


That Time Tony Stark Adopted Spider-Man

by HollowSpiritFree



Category: Iron Man - Fandom, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (not really) - Freeform, Everyone Needs A Hug Actually, Hopefully there's enough humor in here that you don't hate me, I'm Sorry, Identity Reveal, Other, Pepper Potts is a Great Mom Fight Me, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter is An Angry Cinnamon Roll, Probably a bunch of angst, Secret Identity, Some Swearing, Super Family Fluff, Tony Stark Will Need A Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-02-18 20:39:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13108119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HollowSpiritFree/pseuds/HollowSpiritFree
Summary: (And Had No Idea)





	1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

 

Two years after the Incident, the sky opens up and the apocalypse falls through. Or at least, that’s how Peter sees it. Two years of being Spider-Man, defeating both the Lizard and the Green Goblin, and saving countless New Yorkers, and yet he still battles bad press, while all Tony freaking Stark has to do is sit in his fancy tower and wait for a bunch of aliens to run into his fist and suddenly he and the rest of the so-called ‘Avengers’ are practically revered while the rest of the city tries to cauterise the bleeding wounds their destructive battle left in the streets. Places of work destroyed, homes left inhabitable. Spider-Man tries to help with the repairs when he can, ignoring those who ask where he had been when the world was ending, because the truth was, he had been there, too, attempting to gets civilians to safety, but when then news only focussed on Captain America’s miraculous return, the Hulk wreaking havoc again, or on Iron Man finally doing something selfless, well then the vigilantes that protect their homes daily fall to the wayside. No news stations comment on the number of chitauri that were webbed to the buildings not left in rubble, or the amazing sight of the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen out and about during the day.

 

No, the only thing that matters is that the Avengers saved the city, and in the process left it barely standing.

 

Peter isn’t bitter. Not really. He’s used to his self-appointed duty being a thankless one. In fact, he’s overwhelmingly relieved that the Avengers managed to drive the invading alien force back to their own … planet? Dimension? Whatever was on the other end of that portal in the sky. He just finds himself wishing sometimes that Tony Stark would take that ‘philanthropist’ part a little more seriously when New York was scrambling to put itself back together.

  
And also that the Hulk had maybe not been involved to the extent that he had been. A lot of the property damage was caused by the aliens, but nearly as much was caused by the big green guy alone.

 

Why did they always have to be big and green?

* * *

 

“Working hard?”

  
“You could say that.”

 

“Could I?” She surveys the scattered tools and sheets of metal and wires all sorts of things that seemed to have no purpose. “Because you look like you’re just beating yourself up.”

 

“Half the city is in ruin, the Avengers are still scattered to the wind, and S.H.I.E.L.D. is developing nuclear deterrents against aliens we don’t even know about. I-” He sighs. “Maybe I’m looking for something to distract me.”

 

“If it was just that, you wouldn’t be in here moping. You’d be out there, doing something about it. What else is on your mind?”   
  
“Coulson died. He had so much faith in the Avengers before they even existed. I almost died. It’s not the first time-”.

 

“The palladium poisoning….”   
  
“Somehow this was worse. I kept thinking about what would happen when I was gone.”   
  


“Tony…”

 

“Marry me.”

 

“What?”

 

“Marry me. We could do it anywhere you wanted, have a kid, someone who will still love you if something happened to me.” 

 

“I - I don’t need you to do this out of  _ pity _ -”

 

He catches her hand, holds it tight, like a lifeline, like the gravity that pulled him back to earth when he couldn’t save himself. “I’m not. Far from it.”

* * *

 

The house is quiet when he pushes the door open. The sort of quiet that chills your bones, because it doesn’t come from a lack of noise, but instead from a lack of movement. Something has long since passed ‘burnt,’ and ventured into the realm of ‘eviscerated,’ in the stove; the cloying scent of burnt suger hangs in the air. The TV’s on in the livingroom, some news station running a story about (what else?) the Avengers. Something, some deep seated preservation instinct just as powerful as the Spidey Sense warns him away from the living room. Instead, he creeps closer, and, with the memory of his aunt whacking him over the head with a pan the one time she caught him sneaking in, he softly calls out, “Aunt May?”

 

No answer.

 

He rounds the corner into the living room. And drops to his knees. 

 

The breath comes too hard too fast into his lungs. Her eyes are still open, glassy stare pointed accusingly toward the doorway. Later on, they’d tell him that it was a heart attack. Probably there was nothing he could have done, even if he’d been home. 

 

But at least he would have been home. Been with her, at the end.

 

She has to be taken to the hospital for the call to be made, even though it’s obvious that’s gone. Gone, and never coming back. Just like….  _ No. _ He firmly shuts his mind down, focusses on nothing at all, and when the lady from Child Protective Services shows up, he gets in her car and definitely doesn’t think about how nothing will ever be the same again. She drives him home ( _ not home, not any more, never again _ ), to collect his clothes and whatever he needed for school. The rest will be packed away for when he turns 18, she says. 

 

He barely hears her.

 

First his parents, then Ucle Ben. Gwen. Aunt May. He had really lost everyone. It hurts. It digs its jagged claws into his chest and rips him apart.  _ No one left. No one. Not for freaks like you. Better you just stay out of everyone else’s lives.  _

 

It would probably hurt less.

 


	2. Chapter 2

He’s taken to a group foster care home. An old, grey three story house in a residential neighbor just outside of central Manhattan. They tell him it’s just for a little while, “Just until we find a new home for you,” they say, like it’s something to be excited about. A never ending revolving door of counselors and CPS workers and so many people that he knows don’t -  _ shouldn’t  _ \- care about him. The group home is too large (not in the sense that there’s not enough people to fill it, he thinks, but that there are too many rooms for his fogged over brain) and there are always too many people around. 

 

He’s told he’ll be rooming with a kid named Jack, eight years old, with always-messy blond hair and big round glasses. His gut clenches when he gets to their room and the kid immediately begins chattering, telling him he was so excited to have a roomate, how they’ll be practically like brothers. ( _ Just one more person to disappoint. _ ) As soon as he’s dropped his duffle bag on the bed on his side of the room, Peter turns on his heel and stalks out. Better not to even give the kid false hope.

 

He sits on the porch and stairs up at the night sky. There’s too much light pollution this close to the center of Manhattan to make out the stars, but the clouds still slip across the sky like smoke, and for some reason, that fits his mood. Only a few minutes later, though, and his solitude is disturbed. A woman, too thin with frizzy red hair pulled into a bun, who sits down beside him. She lets the silence stand for a moment, until she realizes he’s not going to say anything. Then she sticks her hand out, and in a soft voice she says, “It’s all way too much, right?” ( _ What does she want with him, can’t she he’s trouble? No good. Dangerous to be around _ ….)

 

He doesn’t answer, doesn’t bother taking her hand. For some reason, she stays. “I’m Jenny, the caretaker’s assistant,” she tries.

 

He still says nothing. Finally, her hand drops back into her lap, and then she stands. “Y’know, it’ll be a long few weeks, maybe months, if you don’t speak to anyone.” She waits, for another moment, there on the porch.

 

He hears her shift, turn to head back inside, and something churns in his gut. He sighs, like he’s begrudgingly doing her a favor of epic proportions. “Peter.”

 

She stops, for a moment. Then, “Merry meet, Peter. I hope you can find some bit of happiness while you’re here. It’s no good for the soul to be sad all the time.” She heads inside, and he turns back to sky. But for some reason, it doesn’t hold his attention the same way as before. After a moment, he heaves himself to his feet.

 

There’s one way he can set his mind at ease. At least for a while.

* * *

 

Weeks pass. Everytime he walks through the door of his new ‘home,’ something nasty settles in his chest, and won’t leave until he does, so he spends as little time there as possible. He’s never been particularly good company ( _ how did Gwen ever deal with him? _ ) but now he’s constantly off balance, has no idea how to interact with others. In some sense, he doesn’t want to at all ( _ better, so much better not to get close to anyone - they can’t hurt you when they leave if they were never close _ ) so he starts doing anything he can to avoid the others. He wakes early, eats when he can stomach something, and leaves before anyone but Jenny has even woken up. But school is just as bad. Everyone knows. ( _ Poor Peter Parker, no one can survive being in his life _ .) That first day, Flash approaches him, just like he did after Uncle Ben…. He rests his hand on Peter’s shoulder, says something that’s probably supposed to be kind, consoling even, but it  _ burns _ , so Peter brushes him off, and tries to go through the rest of his day.

  
Everyone watches him ( _ like they know he’s only one more push away from never being able to recover _ ). School has always been painfully easy, even after he became Spider-Man, he got by pretty easily. But now he can barely concentrate for all the laser focus that seems to be directed his way.

 

He stops going to school.

 

His new routine is still to rise early. He spends the time he would have spent at school instead patrolling his city. He’ll read, on days when crime is slow. His old textbooks. Despite never going to school, he keeps up with the work. He returns to the house very early in the morning, sleeping for the few hours he can talk himself into before starting it all over again. A few papers run articles about Spider-Man’s sudden increase in activity. With more time, he’s able to visit more areas throughout the day. Crime rates drop in Manhattan and Brooklyn.

 

Occasionally he returns early ( _ and ‘early’ is subjective; he never returns before midnight _ ) and helps the others who are up late struggling with homework. The first few nights, Jenny asks about the bruises that haven’t healed by morning. She gives up after growing tired of the same, obviously fake excuse each time.

 

He’s not living. Not really. Not anymore.

 

( _ But you’re good at ignoring the pain, aren’t you? _ )

* * *

 

“So… I figured maybe we could skip the whole, ‘wailing ball of puke and sleepless nights that everyone tells you is super adorable’ stage?”

 

“Hmm?” Pepper doesn’t even look up from her paperwork. That stings. He’s far more interesting than paperwork.

 

“Y’know. The baby thing. Except maybe not a baby, exactly.”   
  
“Tony, if you’re having second thoughts….”   
  
“What? No. Absolutely not. I just thought maybe you might want to just start with the fun stage.”

 

“You realize that generally children start as babies, right?”   
  
“Obviously. But I -”   
  
“Tony, what’s wrong?”

 

He huffs, runs his hand through his hair nervously. “I … can’t.”

 

“I already said if you were having second thoughts-”

 

“That’s not what I meant. I mean … physically. I can’t. But I want to. More than anything, Pepper, I want to have a family with you.” She smiles at him softly, no judgement in her eyes as he’d feared.

 

“I guess we’ll just have to skip to the ‘fun stage,’ then.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to thank everyone for their patience and say that I hope everyone has had a merry Christmas, happy Hanukkah, or joyous Yule! I know that one of the best gifts I received this year was the numerous replies to this story encouraging its continuation. I know almost three days is a fairly long wait, but I hope this nice, nearly 3,000 word long update was worth it! I would like to apologize because I have never been to New York so I don’t know if my description of places will make any sense, but in my head the New Hope Guidance Home is just north and a little to the east of Hell’s Kitchen, in Manhattan but close to Queens. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

* * *

 

One of the best things about being an irradiated freak of nature, in Peter’s opinion, is the heightened senses which allow him to know exactly when the alarm in the bank three blocks over goes off. Of course, to Spider-Man, three blocks is nothing, and in less than as many minutes he’s crouched on the roof by a vent, because one thing that will inspire feelings of security and ‘I-wanna-store-my-massive-quantities-of-money-here’ness in people is a vent with rooftop access and no cameras.

 

Still, in this case the vents were working to Peter’s favor. It’s easy to crawl through the vents silently, keeping both an eye and ear out for the robbers. Finally, he comes across a grated opening in the ceiling, which must be in the Vault, because below him are four people, all colorcoded and wearing stupid masks. He pulls the little grated opening in, as quietly as he can, and since it goes unnoticed by the shouting theives, he guesses it was quiet enough. He crawls out, along the ceiling, until he’s above on of the robbers. This one is wearing a blue mask, and he lets out a cry when webs splat onto his back and Peter drags him up to the ceiling. By the time the other theives turn to look at Blue, Peter has already moved to another corner of the room.

 

He shoots a web at Red, next, which wraps around his legs. The idiot sees it coming, and tries to dodge it, but instead winds up still webbed up, but tripped and laying on the ground when it happens.

 

At this point, Yellow and Green obviously understand what’s happening. Yellow, the obvious ringleader, shoves a garbage, presumably full of cash, at Green and shouts, “Get going! I’ll distract him!”

 

...Yeah. Not happening.

 

Peter drops to the ground behind Green, kicking out at his shins. Green curses, and reaches for some sort of weapon at his hip. It looks kinda like Daredevil’s sticks, actually, and emits some sort of faint humming. Quite frankly, he wants nothing to with that.

 

Peter doesn’t let the man get a good hold on the stick. Before he’s even fully pulled it from the loop on his belt, Peter is webbing him in the face and kicking out his legs. The webs cause Green to reach for his face, instead, trying to pull the webs away from his nose and eyes. The kick sends him sprawling to the ground, where Peter lets loose two more short bursts of webbing, sticking Green to the floor, conveniently close to Red.

 

And then a tingling, skin crawling pain bursts from his back. His eyes widen, his knees go soft, and he feels the muscles all along his back twitch. Electricity?

 

His knees are already weak, so he lets himself roll forward, popping up into a handspring like he’s some sort of gymnast and standing back up, still panting from the jolt of electricity. He takes in Yellow, and then could have cursed himself. Shocker, of course. Peter should have recognized him right away, but it's been a few months since he's caused any trouble.

 

Shocker smirks and twirls his stupid little sticks, and with the press of a button they light up, letting off an ominous _buzz-crack!_

 

“Upgrade your equipment, Shocker? Is that why you’ve been so good for me lately?”

 

“Good? Me? Spider-Man, I’ve never been so offended!” Shocker laughs like the crazy he is, and then begins to examine his own bug zapper sticks as if they're some marvelous mystery.

 

Peter really hates the cocky ones.

 

“Do you like my latest invention? I’ve got new friends in high places, Spider-Man. They give me everything I need to make fun little toys like these, and all they ask is that I make good use of them.” The cheerful edge suddenly vanishes from his voice. “Something which _you’re_ preventing me from doing! Get lost, Spider-Man! Or face the conse-”

 

The webbing hits dead center, and Peter could have cheered. Hands bound and mouth wrapped in webbing, Shocker makes an enraged noise behind his new gag, and charges Spider-Man, attempting to hit him with webbed hands, but only succeeding in letting Spidey trip him and send him flying to the ground. Peter quickly webs down his legs and arms, and jumps back up to the ceiling.

 

Just before he slips back into the vents, he quips, “Why does every d-list villain feel the need to monologue?”

* * *

 

He stops three muggings, a carjacking, another robbery ( _this time it's is a gas station, and doesn’t_ that _bring up bad memories_ ) and wraps up the night with some weird dude’s arson fantasy in Brooklyn, but the entire time something nags at him.

 

_“I’ve got new friends in high places, Spider-Man.” “...all they ask is that I make good use of them.”_

 

There's a chance - an absolutely tiny one - that Shocker might give up his backers to the police for leniency. Peter's not holding his breath.

 

With a sigh, he glances down at his webshooter ( _Low on web fluid, how am I going to make more without access to Oscorp tech or the school chem lab?..._ ) which still functions as a watch. Nearly four in the morning, and definitely time for him to return to the gray house in Manhattan ( _not home. Never home. No home for you ever again_. Peter flinches at the thought that slips through his head like oil of wintergreen with a freezing taste and a deadly heat that blooms inside). He slips his glove back on and heads north, only to freeze at the sound of panicked screaming only a few minutes later.

 

He stops on a low rooftop and glances toward the sound. He's right on the edge of Hell’s Kitchen. Daredevil's probably got this under control, but… There's another scream, much closer now.

 

He swoops down.

 

A man is running down the street, looking over his shoulder. Peter can barely make out tears running down his cheeks when he turns to look where he's going. He knows the moment the man sees and recognizes him - not like it's hard to do, red and blue spandex and all - because he cries out, “Spider-Man!” and runs right into him, clutching his shoulders like he's a lifeline.

 

“I did it, I’ll confess, please, just don’t let him get hold of me Spidey!” The man wails into his neck. Peter glances over the guy’s shoulder, and watches in fascination as Daredevil materializes out of the shadows.

 

Creepy.

 

“Hey, Double D! This guy is yours?” He jokes, gesturing to the sobbing crook.

 

“Spider-Man,” Daredevil growls, but he nods, probably in greeting. So. That's nice. Ish. Then he snarls at the man, “You will go to the precinct and confess your sins, or I will know.” The man's still holding onto him, and has given up on crying in favor of shaking like a leaf. With a sound like a squeaky door hinge, the man lets go of Spidey and begins to make a run for it again, this time in the direction of the police station.

 

Peter glances up to say something, only to watch as Daredevil does some sort of crazy parkour right up the wall and disappears. Underneath the mask, he pouts. “Hey, I can do that, too! I’m cool!”

 

His only answer is the crickets and a particularly strong gust of wind.

* * *

 

Jenny's already up when he gets back to the Gray House. She takes one look at him and sighs, cupping his jaw right where it's bruised. Her hands are always cold, and the soft touch is soothing, so of course Peter brushes her hands aside as carefully as he can and starts up the stairs to his room.

 

“We’re having visitors tomorrow, Peter. Some important people, I guess, ‘cause they’re scheduled in pretty late. I think the caretaker would appreciate you being there. I know I would.”

 

He’s frozen in the doorway for a moment. Angry, though he can’t figure out why. In the end, he shoves the door closed, quiet enough not to wake up Jack, and throws himself onto the bed.

 

He doesn’t sleep long enough to dream, and that’s probably a good thing.

* * *

 

There’s a bubbly feeling in her chest, some mix of excitement and terror. She holds Tony’s hand tightly as they make their way up the stone path to the New Hope Guidance Home. It’s an old home, large than most of the others on the street but also obviously in need of a new coat of paint, even in the light of dusk. To Pepper Potts, though, on this day, this house is the most beautiful place in the world.

 

After all, her future son or daughter is here. She can feel it.

 

Tony holds the door open for her with an exaggerated bow and a big grin. The caretaker, Sharon, welcomes them with a smile that’s as bright as her obnoxiously colored sweater. She leads them to the den, where she picks up a manila envelope and pulls out a stack of papers.

 

“I see that the home study was successful. That’s good…” She hums. “I’ll have you both fill out this questionnaire individually and once you’re done Jenny will bring down the children.”

 

“Now what’s the purpose of this questionnaire?”

 

“It gives us an idea of what kind of home life the children can expect, and also can be passed on to larger agencies so that you can immediately be connected with children that will fit your family if you don’t find the right fit today at the Guidance Home.”

 

Sharon hands them each a small stack of papers, and they get started. The first few questions ask for her opinions on their relationship, and if she feels it would be affected by adoption. The next few ask what she thinks the child should know about their being adopted, if she would support them if they decided to look for their biological family, and what she thinks is appropriate discipline. The final few are about what she’s willing to consider in the child she adopts. For a second, she has the uncomfortable thought that it’s not too dissimilar from choosing a dog breed, but then she reads the questions, and a sad sort of understanding fills her. These questions ask things like would she consider adopting twins, or a child with a disability. (For a moment, she pictures a little girl with pigtails sitting at the breakfast bar in the Avengers commons signing with Clint.) She checks off her answers, and slides her questionnaire back to Sharon, who is already studying Tony’s form. She picks up Pepper’s, and after a moment a small smile forms.

 

“Well alright. Jenny? We’re ready.” Jenny nods and heads upstairs.

 

Sharon places a few new folders on the table before them. “There are twelve children currently staying at the Guidance Home. Their ages range from seven months to sixteen years. Jacob is the youngest, Peter is the oldest. They all have different stories and reasons for coming here. I’ll let you keep ahold of these folders, but I encourage you to meet all of them.

 

Just then the door opened, and kids begin to file in. The first is a little girl with long brown hair who shouts out, “Me first!” and runs straight for the seat on the couch beside Sharon. From the folders, Pepper gathers that this is Fern, the four year old. More children come in, most less exuberant than Fern, but all seem to be excited.

 

Pepper tries her best to match up names to faces while Tony entertains a girl with shoulder length blonde hair and a boy wearing a shirt with an alien on the front. Skye and Zachary, both ten years old. Not related, but they seem to be good friends.

 

“So you make robots?” The girl asks, wide-eyed, like it’s the most amazing thing in the world, and Pepper guesses that to a ten year old it might be. Her chest feels warm and her throat gets tight when she sees the soft smile on Tony’s face. He’s awkward, trying to explain his work without using words that are too big for the kids or seem patronising. With most adults, he doesn’t care, in fact he revels in lording his intelligence over others, but it’s obvious he wants to make a good impression on these kids, that he’s _trying_ , and it makes her heart melt.

 

And then the door slams, loudly, and the room falls silent. Pepper jumps in her seat, and looks over her shoulder. He’s tall, and thin, and his dark hair is mess. His jaw is bruised on one side, his cheek on the other. He wears a wrinkled flannel shirt over a t-shirt that looks like something Tony would wear, and Pepper could only imagine what the finger gloves he wears are hiding. But the most striking thing is the expression on his face.

 

He’s _angry_.

 

“Found the right stray, yet?” He sneers. Without waiting for a response, he stalks up the stairs and disappears.

 

The silence holds for another beat, and then a soft voice murmurs, “That’s Peter.”

 

“What can you tell us about Peter?” She hears Tony ask.

 

“He’s a troubled kid,” the assistant, Jenny says. “Orphaned, no other family. Pretty quiet. He keeps strange hours. I don’t think he goes to school anymore.”

 

“Not that he needs to!” Jack cuts in. “He’s super smart. He fixed the computer in Miss Sharon’s office one night after everybody else went to sleep, and sometimes he helps up with our homework sometimes. Even Jenny’s anatomy - she’s gonna be a doctor.”

 

“Is that so?” Pepper murmurs. She waits until Tony and the kids are wrapped up in another topic, and then sneaks up the stairs.

 

It takes a few minutes - each of the doors has a piece of paper taped to it with the names of its inhabitants. Beside each name is a few clip art pictures of things that the children must be interested in; Autumn’s name is written in a flowing cursive font with a little ballerina, Grant has big block letters, a soccer ball, and a dinosaur. She doesn’t find Peter’s name on the second floor, so she makes her way up to the top floor. Up there, there’s only three rooms, so it’s easy to find the room she’s looking for. First she sees Jack’s name, neatly handwritten and surrounded by stars. After a second, she realizes they’re constellations. Peter’s name is written below, in Arial font. There are no pictures.

 

She taps quietly, and after a moment with no answer, she gently pushes the door open - and watches a book fly across the room. She stands in the doorway for a moment, watches Peter as he surveys her like a cornered animal. After a second, he takes a deep breath, and his shoulders relax, but he says nothing.

 

His eyes aren’t quite so piercing, but she can feel them follow her nonetheless as she scoops up the book from it’s resting place. She’s shocked by its weight, and turns it over to see the cover, where she’s once again taken aback. _The Fabric of the Cosmos: Space, Time, and the Texture of Reality_. She holds it up, and can’t read his expression.

 

“So why do you not go to school, if you’re reading stuff like this?”

 

He snorts. “Because I can read ‘stuff like this.’” He smirks. “There’s nothing that a depressed, underpaid public school teacher can offer me.” Her brows rise in shock.

 

There’s a bark of laughter from the door. She watches Peter stiffen once again, and though he doesn’t turn away from Pepper, he watches Tony from the corner of his eye. “You’re pretty arrogant, huh, kid?” Tony teases.

 

“Coming from a man who put his own name on a building in point seven hundred font?” He taunts. “Sure.” There’s something about the way he speaks. She can see the shadow of a funny little boy in the way his lips twitch when he delivers the line. She remembers Jenny’s words, and wonders just how much he’s lost to make him so bitter.

Looking between him and Tony, who grins at the challenge and starks snarking right back, (“It’s actually point 775. And I worked hard to put my name on that building. What would you have suggested I do?” He waves in the general direction of Peter’s face. “Get into back alley brawls?”) Pepper can’t help but smile.

 

When they leave, about an hour later, Pepper takes the folders with her. They fan them out on Tony’s worktop, and she flips them open so she can see the photos inside. Her eye keeps being drawn to one photo, which creates an ache in her chest everytime she sees in. Because of the pose she can guess that it must be a school ID, but he’s smiling brightly.

 

Arms wrap around her waist. “What are you thinking?” He murmurs in her ear. She picks up the paper with the photo, and watches his eyes soften as he examines the messy brown hair and bright smile.

 

“I know who I want to bring home.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys, but this one is kind of short. The action really gets started in the next one, so it's taking a while to crank out, but I think it'll be worth it. Thanks for all your support and all the kudos and wonderful comments. They mean so much to me!

* * *

 

“Whoo! Hey, I’m swingin’ over here!”

 

Tony Stark, AKA Iron Man, the greatest superhero ever, is nearly knocked out the sky when some _one_ lands on him. An upside down, red spandex covered head appears before him. “What’s going on here?”

 

Over his comm, Tony hears Clint whine, “Really? What’s bug boy doing here?”

 

As if he’d heard, Spider-Man’s head cocks, and then he’s springing off his back, (Tony absolutely did _not_ squawk, shut _up_ , Clint!) and swinging over to land between Capsicle and the bird man. He snaps off a jaunty salute at Cap.

 

“We don’t know what caused it, but it’s like the entire neighborhood has gone mad. They’re all fighting each other.” Spider-Man nods and bounds off, accompanied by the wet splat of webbing hitting a building.

 

“...I hate that guy.” Clint mutters.

 

“He seems to just want to help,” Steve replies. “Still, he’s a loose canon. Keep an eye on him.”

 

“Understood.”

* * *

 

He drops low beneath a business woman’s right hook, kicks out her footing, and webs her to the ground in the middle of a backflip so he can dodge the man who attempts to grab him. He lands, panting. It’s been nearly four hours since he met up with the Avengers, and he’s never been so tired in his life. His enemies are normal people, so he tries his hardest not to leave them with lasting injuries, but they just. Keep. Coming.

 

He sucks in a deep breath, cringing at the heat on his face from the mask, and squares his feet. He faces his next opponent, a kid, maybe middle school age, wearing a shirt with a picture of one of the cringiest bands in existence.

 

Middle school cringe lord suddenly falls to the ground, unconcscious. Business lady has stopped screaching. He straightens up in shock, and looks around.

 

Everyone is either laying on the ground, or strung up against a wall, passed out. He peers down the street, and notices Captain America and Black Widow, also surrounded by unconscious enemies. He swings over quickly, just in time to hear Steve ask, “Does anyone know what just happened?”

* * *

 

 

He shrugs his duffle bag on over shoulder and pretends he doesn’t see Jack watching him with a look on his face like he’s happy and terribly sad at the same time. Jenny wraps her skinny arms around him when he gets out to the porch, and whispers in his ear, “Merry part, Peter. May we meet again.” He tries his best to hide the flinch when her breath warms his ear, but from the sad look on her face he doesn’t think he succeeded.

 

Sharon is handing Mr. Stark some papers, but Mrs. Potts ( _she kept her last name, didn’t she? Potts-Stark? That feels wrong…_ ) sees him as he heads down the walkway to their car, some fancy, totally expensive thing without a brand on it, probably Stark built it himself. She smiles, heartbreakingly pretty and hurries right up to him and what is it with people hugging him today?!

 

“It’s nice to see you again, Peter. I hope you’ll be happy with us.” Mr. Stark has seen him, now, and once he and Pepper ( _that’s more comfortable, definitely_ ) have made it to the fancy car, he pats Peter’s back and then opens the backseat door for him. So Peter crawls into seat, a little surprised by how roomy the thing is, and stares out the window the entire ride into uptown Manhattan.

 

A few times, they try to start a conversation with him, but he shuts them down quickly, with terse words and clipped answers. Soon they stop trying. Pepper whispers, “He’s just adjusting. Give him time.” He’s not meant to hear it, but with spider-enhanced senses, it’s hard to hide, especially in such a confined space as the back seat of a car.

 

He wishes the silence didn’t make the car ride feel so much like a funeral parade. The sudden burst of old rock music that Mr. Stark turns on a moment later only makes it worse, somehow.

* * *

 

The elevator stops on the 89th floor. Half the ride up had been silent, the other half filled by Mr. Stark’s excited chatter. A nervous flutter starts up in Peter’s stomach. The elevator slides open, and for a second, Peter wonders if maybe they’ve stopped on the wrong floor.

 

It’s _loud_.

 

Someone is laughing, a great, booming sound, and at least two others are trying to talk over each other.

 

He feels Mr. Stark’s hand burning through the skin, the meat, the cartilage and tendons and the bone of his shoulder blade where he’s placed it guide him into the room. And a wave of panic rolls through him so _sharp_ and intense in it sitrs his head and bring bile to the back his throat.

 

He knows these people. The Avengers. There’s Hawkeye, waving around a pancake, and Black Widow sitting primly on the edge of the counter watching him with a passive expresion and Thor is the one laughing, and _Captain America_ is flipping pancakes and _he needs to leave_. Now. He can’t do this.

 

Except Mr. Stark still has a hand on his shoulder and gently pushes him over to the breakfast bar, where Pepper sits down beside him.

 

“Alright Peter, I know this is the part you’re secretly excited for!” Mr. Stark crowed. He begins gesturing to each of the Avengers. “This is Clint Barton, the bird man, AKA Hawkeye. He’s not as cool as me, but he’s good backup in a fight. This pretty lady is Black Widow, her name is Natasha Romanov.” His voice drops. “Don’t piss her off, I don’t think she’d actually kill you, we just got you. But still. Behave, huh? Anyway, the loud guy here is Thor, big surprise, and everyone recognizes the frozen face of patriotism. This is Steve Rogers, AKA Captain America, but you probably knew that part already.” He carries on and on and on, and Peter’s a pretty talkative guy, but Mr. Stark just does not stop. Peter feels that overwhelmed feeling in his stomach grow, until its starting to consume him. He’s on the edge of a cliff and he doesn’t want to look down because he knows he won’t like what he’ll see but he can’t stop inching forward and -

 

He feels something scratch against his arm. It’s gone again, in an instant. A moment later, it brushes against him again. He glances down, to see Pepper holding a piece of folded up paper. He takes it, curious, but gentle enough that if it weren’t meant for him, she could take it back.

 

It slips into his palm easy as air.

 

He glances up at Mr. Stark, who has moved behind the counter and is still talking. He opens the little piece of paper.

 

_Clint likes to throw fruit at people when they’re not expecting it, because he’s weird. Keep an eye out for that, by the way. But the first time Thor was his victim, Thor thought it was a game. He picked up the orange and returned it to Clint so forcefully that Clint had a black eye for a week._

 

Peter chokes on his laughter. He glances at Pepper out of the corner of his eye, and she’s not looking at him, but he sees her small smile. And he understands.

 

Pepper keeps slipping him little notes. They all sit down around the breakfast bar and eat together, breakfast for lunch, and when Peter starts to thinks, ‘ _I’m eating pancakes with Captain America! Captain America who doesn’t like Spider-Man! He’ll figure out who I am! He’ll kick me out, or hand me over to S.H.I.E.L.D. or…’_ Pepper taps another note against the back of his hand, which he reads underneath the table.

 

_Steve loves to draw, and he’s pretty amazing at it. You’ll have to let him draw you sometime. He’s so great at it, in fact, that each of the Avengers has a framed portrait somewhere in their room, except for Tony. Everytime he draws Tony, he deliberately sets his moustache just a bit off center. Tony won’t say anything about it, but he’s secretly a little self conscious about it._

 

After lunch, they move to the lounge. The Avengers fight over which movie to watch, until Natasha speaks up. As soon as she says, “Black Swan,” the others quiet down, nodding to themselves and muttering, “Ok. Black Swan it is.”

 

He feels another scratch against his arm, and takes the note eagerly.

 

 _Natasha might act scary, but the first time she stayed the night at the tower, there was an emergency in the middle of the night. She fought off all three of the idiots who tried breaking into_ _Avenger’s Tower_ _single-handedly. When everyone else got to the commons, they saw her standing in the middle of three men laying on the floor, groaning in pain, and she was only wearing a pair of sleep shorts and a tank top that said, ‘I’m not saying I’m the Hulk, but you won’t like me when I’m angry.’ Bruce - you’ll meet him later, he’s the Hulk - he just looked at her shirt, smiled a little, and said, “No, probably not.” Then laid down and went back to sleep right there on the couch._

 

He chuckles. He doesn’t notice Mr. Stark watching at him, or the way Pepper catches his eye and smiles softly.

 

The elevator dings, and a slim man hiding tense shoulders beneath a lab coat steps out.

 

“Oh! And he finally emerges!” Mr. Stark shouts. “That, Peter, is Dr. Bruce Banner, he-”

  
Peter’s eyes widen in shock. “I’ve read every one of your papers on radiaton!”

 

There’s a moment of silence where everyone in the room stares at him. Peter feels his face go red.

 

“How old are you?” Bruce finally asks, looking faint.

 

“...Sixteen?” Peter kind of hates how it comes out like a question.

 

“And … you understood them all?”

 

“Yes, of course.”

 

Bruce doesn’t seem to know what to say to that. After a moment, Mr. Stark claps his hands and says, “Ok! Good talk! Hey, Peter, feel free to come up to the lab sometime. Top ten floors, all R&D!”

 

He drags Bruce right back into the elevator, shouting, “Science!” as the doors slowly slide closed. They haven’t even finished the movie.


	5. Chapter 5

The man’s footsteps crunch against the thin layer of wet gravel on pavement. He turns down an alley lit only by the single light above a door about halfway down, chipped green paint on a rusted metal surface, which groans as it’s pulled open. The room is as dark as the alley outside, with only a single table and a few chairs inside, but it does not have to be comfortable. It is, after all, only for privacy. His partner sits in one of the chairs, looking entirely too preoccupied with the single piece of paper on the table.

 

“The mist failed.”

  
  
“It was merely a trial. A valuable one, at that. A masterpiece is not created in a day; so too will my mist change and improve. I need only time.” 

 

“I want it done soon.”

  
  
“It will be done when it is done!”

 

Rage flashes across the larger man’s face. He surges forward, grabbing his partner’s face over the table. His expressions softens almost immediately, though, and his grasp changes, stroking chilled cheeks gently. “You listen to me well. I am not a patient man. I have given you everything you asked for, all the lab rats you could want, and all I asked for was one thing: Spider-Man’s head. I expect it on a silver platter.” His voice is quiet but hard as he finishes, his hands tightening, leaving white bloodless marks in his partner’s skin. “Soon.”

 

The door slams loudly when he leaves.

* * *

 

Peter stands in his new room and breaths in the quiet. On the corner of the 87th floor, he can’t deny that there’s a great view, but this isn’t a small house in Queens, and the people two floors up aren’t his family.

 

He has about a half hour to get his things put away before Pepper returns to give him a tour of the tower. With a final deep breath, he heads over to the bed where his bag sits. He slides the zipper down, and his breath catches.

 

His suit is right on top. He knew that it would be but...

 

He looks around for a moment. 

 

He needs a place to hide his suit. He knows Iron Man is fond of Spider-Man, in that way that people will be amused and a little exasperated by their significant other’s yappy little dog, but he also knows that Captain America doesn’t trust him at all, and wouldn’t appreciate discovering that Spider-Man is suddenly cohabiting with him. What frightens him the most, though, is that he knows that both Hawkeye and Black Widow dislike Spider-Man. Both have tried to stalk him at some point; most likely to discover his identity. Both had failed, and he knows that rubs them wrong. ( _ Really, they should know better than to try and follow someone who has a precognitive sense. Not that he’d ever tell them about his Spidey sense… _ ) He can’t imagine their reactions to discovering Spider-Man is hiding right beneath their noses. His hands tighten around the spandex of his suit. He’s determined not to find out.

 

He looks around the room frantically, muttering to himself occasionally. “Crap,” he groans when he pushes the closet doors open. It’s an ostentatious walk-in, the sort of thing that he used to tease Gwen about, saying they’d have to have one. The thing is, everything is visible in the closet. He can’t hide anything in there!

 

He’s standing in the center of his room and debating whether or not he should just shove it under his bed, when he hears, “Perhaps I can be of assistance, young master.” 

 

He whirls around, shoving the suit behind his back as if that’s not totally conspicuous, expecting to see some sort of elderly british man in the doorway, but there’s no one there.

 

“My apologies, young master. I am Jarvis, sir’s artificial intelligence.”

 

Peter’s eyes widen. “An A.I.? Hey, wait a minute! What’s with this whole, ‘young master,’ thing?”

 

“Traditionally, that is what the son of the head of house is called, young master. As sir’s son, you have certain privileges that others in the tower do not.”

 

Peter frowned. “Well, you can just call me Peter.”   
  
“If that is what the young master wishes.” Before Peter has a chance to comment, the A.I. continues. “I believe you will find the solution to your problem behind the dresser. Sir had safes installed in all of the bedrooms. As only the owner of the items with the safe and Sir have access to the safes, it should be a suitable place for you to store your valuable items. Just press a finger against the biometric scanner and I will add you to my database.”

 

When Pepper returns to Peter’s room twenty minutes later, the dresser is pushed neatly back into place, the Spider-Man suit hidden away with the wall.

* * *

 

They end the tour in the lobby. Peter has a pretty good memory but he thinks that if he were expected to draw a map of the tower or something right now, he’d fail. There’s just  _ so much _ . A hundred floors of research and development and business. Somehow, he’s not surprised that Pepper has every project memorized in an easy to explain manner. She’s a capable lady.

 

“I’m sure it probably all seems a little overwhelming right now, so if you do need to get somewhere and can’t remember the way, just ask Jarvis. Or, any of the employees should be happy to help you,” Pepper finishes.

 

Peter nods dazedly, making a mental note to add ‘mind reader’ to his list of Pepper’s superpowers, and Pepper snickers. “In any case, it’s almost dinner time, so let’s head back up. I promise, it’ll be a quieter affair this time, just us and Tony.” 

 

He kind of hates her sweet smile and the way her arm is warm around his shoulders, and he kind of hates himself for that. He watches her walk to the elevator, a quiet sort of confidence in her step that she’s probably not even aware she projects, and wonders if that’s what Aunt May looked like twenty years ago. Maybe what Gwen would have looked like in twenty years. ( _ If she’d had the chance _ .)

 

She looks over her shoulder at him, and his mind clears up. It’s Pepper waiting for him in front of the elevator. Not Aunt May. Not Gwen. He’s already taking his first step when she calls out, “Coming?”

* * *

 

Dinner starts off as a quiet affair, just like Pepper promised. They sit at a round glass dining table on Mr. Stark and Pepper’s personal floor, and the food is a fancy rich person version of steak. He sneaks a few bites into his napkin, which he shoves into the pocket of his hoodie.

 

Then Mr. Stark starts asking him stuff. Questions about his hobbies - “ I like reading, I’m into photography. There’s some other stuff,” he says with a shrug. ( _ Like swinging around New York beating up criminals in a spandex suit which he has to care for and inventing new types of webbing and other gadgets to make vigilante life easier but he can never talk about that because  _ secret identity _ ) _ \- his favorite school subjects - biology and chemistry, definitely - and what he wants to do with his life. Here, Peter shrugs. He knows that freelancing for the Bugle won’t support him for the rest of his life, but he can’t really imagine another job that would fit into his life nearly as well, considering Spider-Man’s hectic schedule.

 

“I know you’re a smart kid,” Mr. Stark says. “I heard about you repairing Sharon’s computer, at the Guidance home. And that book you were reading... “ There’s some sort of gleam in his eye, and Peter’s not sure he likes whatever it means. “Have you ever tried your hand at engineering?”

 

He remembers the numerous strands of webbing strung up around his bedroom in those first few days before Spider-Man made his debut almost two years ago, and then again after he first fought Electro. The watch and the think leather wristband that disguise the actual webshooter apparatuses both feel heavy for a moment. He sees Gwen wearing a shiny silver bracelet with a webbed pattern and a little golden spider that in the end did nothing to save her. The subtle golden spider web brooch that she word on the lapel of her blazer, with the tracker hidden beneath the gem, that only helped to get him there in time to see her- 

 

He shrugs and murmurs, “A little.”

 

That night he stands in his room and stares at his dresser - really more like through it, as if he could see his suit hidden in the wall - for nearly ten minutes contemplating going out before deciding to wait. He’s just getting ready for bed when there’s a knock at his door, and he’s suddenly very grateful for his decision.

 

Pepper and Mr. Stark stand in the doorway. Pepper is in night clothes - some silky night gown and a robe - but Mr. Stark is still in his jeans and something clicks in his head then that probably Mr. Stark is the type to go to bed really late, if at all, and he’s even more glad he decided to wait to go out because now he’ll have to think of a way to get out of the tower when  _ Iron Man _ is  _ awake  _ in the same building.

 

He could curse his stupid Parker luck.

 

They don’t seem to notice his internal freak out, which is lucky, but also not because the reason why is that they’re too busy looking shocked and then Mr. Stark gasps, “Whoa, kid, what the hell happened to you?”

 

He pales, and glances down at himself as if he doesn’t already know exactly what Mr. Stark’s talking about. Yup. Three scars on his chest from where the Lizard almost tore him open in the sewers, various cuts and bruises left over from the past few nights. He shrugs - something he seems to be doing a lot lately - and quietly says, “Parker luck,” as if that explains everything.

 

It’s almost funny, how they have nearly the same reaction. Eyes widen, and they look to each other quickly. Mr. Stark looks like he’s going to say something, but Pepper cuts him off. “Well, we wanted to come say good night, Peter.”

 

He’s surprised by that, he’ll admit it. Even Jenny never said goodnight to him. He hides it by pulling his shirt on.

 

“That’s nice. Good night,” he says when his head has popped out. There’s some sort of look in Pepper’s eyes, something that he can’t figure out. She steps up, close to him. Wraps him up in her arms and her lavender scent and tucks her head beneath his chin because he’s taller than her and that just gives him the chance to stare ahead in shock.

 

“Good night, Peter.”

 

He tentatively brings his hands up to rest at her shoulder blades, and feels her arms tighten around his waist and it squeezes against his bruised ribs but instead of complaining, his chin slowly drops and his arms slides around her. A moment later the scent of oil and burch joins the lavender, and he feels another set of arms wrap around him and Pepper. It’s not like he’s never been hugged before, but the last time he was held like this was really before Uncle Ben died. ( _ Holding Gwen was amazing, but it was just different. _ )

 

Inexplicably, he starts to tear up.

 

He closes his burning eyes and tucks his chin into Pepper’s hair.

 

Later, after they’ve said goodnight and left him in his room, he stares out the window and doesn’t let himself think. Somehow, he has a dreamless night for the first time in weeks.

* * *

 

By Sunday morning his head is buzzing and he’s twitchy with too much energy by noon, so he grabs his suit from the safe and stuffs it in his bag and heads out. The receptionist gives him a curious look, probably because he’s the only one in the lobby under thirty and he’s dressed far more casually than anyone else in a hoodie and jeans. He wonders if the receptionist thinks he’s going to rob Mr. Stark. Whether or not he harbors suspicions of Peter’s criminal intent, he doesn’t stop him from leaving.

 

That afternoon, Spider-Man stops four muggings and a carjacking. He saves three people from a burning building where he meets up with Johnny Storm and they eat dinner on Lady Liberty’s head - about a fourth of the fries end up inedible because they’ve wound up covered in Johnny’s hair gel. In retaliation, Johnny abandons dinner and aims to shove as many fries as possible down the neck of Peter’s suit. An effort in futility, of course, when he’s essentially wrestling someone with super strength, and they wind up laying side by side and laughing when Johnny finally realizes this.

 

Not for the first time Peter considers just taking off his mask. Johnny is his best friend - honestly, probably his only friend. It’s not like he’s got anyone left to protect, Peter thinks. But something visceral inside him flinches at the thought of baring it all, even to his best friend, of destroying almost two years of secrecy. He knows Johnny would never intentionally betray his trust, but still images flash through his mind, picturing headlines proclaiming his identity, or people following him around the way they follow Johnny and Mr. Stark. That thought jolts through him. 

 

Being Tony Stark’s …  _ son _ , every challenge with the media would be ten times worse. He’s no longer just Peter Parker. He’s Peter Parker Stark - he’d refused to give up his own surname, but figured it wouldn’t hurt him to the added surname as one of the final steps of the adoption - and being Peter Parker Stark means that no matter what he’s probably going to run into the media a few times. He can’t fade into obscurity any more, which was one of the few good things about being Peter Parker. 

 

A little part of him falls apart.

 

He knows he’s gone quiet, and Johnny is starting to look at him strangely, so he grabs him bag and abruptly states, “I have to go now.”

 

He’s swinging off before Johnny can reply.

* * *

 

He doesn’t want to go back to the tower, to face the new reality that had just struck him, but when his phone chirps to let him know it’s low at almost three in the morning, he knows he has to.

 

He’s not expecting Mr. Stark to be waiting for him, and honestly it’s almost painful. He’s the last person that Peter wants to see right now.

 

“I’m not mad.” He begins. “We haven’t set any house rules, yet, so it’s not like you did anything wrong tonight. But in the future I would like to know when you’re going out, and I would also appreciate you being home by midnight, especially when the next day is a school day.”

 

Peter scoffs. “I’ll remember that,” he says flatly. He heads up to his room. 

 

He doesn’t hear Mr. Stark murmur, “Good night, kid.”

* * *

 

The next morning, he wakes up early. It’s a Monday, but he has no intention of going to school. He gets dressed with his suit beneath his clothes and heads out, only to run right into Happy, who smiles and cheerfully asks, “Ready for school?”

 

“Sure,” he says slowly. Panic sets in when Happy opens the backseat of the same fancy custom car that Mr. Stark gets driven around in. “Oh, I can walk or skateboard to school,” he says.

 

“Sure, you could,” Happy says. “Or, I could drive you.”

 

“Really that’s not-”

  
  
“I’m going to drive you to school,” Happy says, more intently, and Peter can tell there’s no arguing with him. So with a sigh, he climbs into the car, and hopes that there aren’t many people he knows waiting outside the school.

  
  


Pepper is in the middle of a meeting with the manager of the California labs when her phone rings. It’s a number that she doesn’t recognize, but that’s not entirely unusual. She checks the message an hour later when her meeting ends.

 

And she calls Tony.

* * *

 

He gets back to the tower just before midnight, and once again realizes that someone is waiting for him. It’s an odd feeling - Aunt May had trusted him, and had such a busy schedule, so she was usually asleep by the time he crept into the house. 

 

This time, Pepper and Tony are both sitting in the lounge. Pepper looks concerned. “I got a phone today. From your school. Where you didn’t go today.”

 

Peter doesn’t want to fight. He doesn’t want to feel so tired and angry. But he still sneers and says, “I’ve already told you. There’s no point in going.”

 

Tony answers, this time. “There is, though. You have to graduate if you want to go to college, and college is one the few places you’re going to receive a challenge. Quite frankly, you’re smart enough to go just about anywhere you want to, but it won’t happen if you don’t put some effort into it.” He sighs, and looks at the clock. “You know where this conversation would go. Go to school tomorrow. Really,  _ actually  _ go. I don’t want to have to punish you like some naughty kid; you’re better than that.”

 

He stands, and walks up to Peter, and Peter’s not sure exactly what he’s expecting, but it’s not for Mr. Stark to  _ tousle his hair _ and smile, complete with crinkles at the corners of his eyes, and say, “You can’t convince me to give up on you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! The longest chapter yet to ring in the new year! Thank you all for the wonderful comments. I've finished my throughline for this piece, and I believe there will only be four more chapters, but that might become five if certain scene feel like they need to be broken up. I'm incredibly excited to see your reactions to the upcoming action, so, as always, let me know what you think!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy! Look at this, a kind of early update! I just got done buying textbooks for spring semester and oh my gawd I’m not ready! T.T I needed a distraction from my life problems, so early update! yay. (Why are textbooks so expensive?!)

* * *

 

 

The minute he steps off the elevator he can tell today is not going to be his day. The Avengers are sitting around the breakfast bar, but fall silent when he enters. He sees Tony sitting in his usual spot between Pepper and Steve, and a flash of something that burns rushes through his chest. He looks away, right at Natasha.

 

“Good morning, Peter. Why don’t you take a seat.” It’s not a suggestion. 

 

A plate of french toast is dropped in front of him ( _ it stills boggles his mind to see Captain America in a bright red apron. He makes fantastic french toast, though _ ). 

 

He shovels the food down even though his stomach feels like it’s in knots and his shoulders are so tense they could crack, because Spidey metabolism, but he can’t help the nervous tension that manifests in a bouncing knee as he waits for someone to talk.

 

It doesn’t happen until after he’s finished and dropped his plate into the dishwasher ( _ if he grabs one of Steve’s granola bars while he’s back there, well, who would point to the skinny teenager? _ ) and returned to his seat. 

 

“I like you, Peter. We haven’t had a lot of time to get to know each other, but we’ve gotten along well, I think. But you stay out late, and we don’t know what you’re doing, and the other night we saw you. You’re covered in bruises and cuts and scars - more than any teenager should ever have,” Pepper starts, and what is this, a freaking intervention? ( _ He wonders if they would still be concerned if he’d walked in on the ceiling or something. He knows they wouldn’t, these  _ real  _ superheroes who don’t trust, maybe even hate Spider-Man, but it’s nice to pretend. _ ) “You seem like a good kid behind some rough edges, we just need to know that you’re being safe. Part of that is making sure you’re where you’re supposed to be, that you’re going to school and keeping good friends.” ( _ Keeping  _ good  _ friends?! He can’t keep any friends at all. Hell, he can’t even keep his family.) _

 

“Fine,” he says instead. “I’ll go to school.”

 

So he goes back down to his floor and gets changed and grabs his bag. On his way out, Clint tosses an apple at his head, calling out, “Maybe you can give this to one of your teachers and they’ll forgive you for having to see your face again,” and Peter knows he should let it hit, or dodge it, but he just doesn’t care right now. He catches it, takes a bite while he nods smugly at Clint,  and heads into the elevator. He lets Happy drive him to school without a fight, and can’t help looking at him strangely when he leans back against the car, but Happy just nods to him pleasantly, and Peter realizes he won’t leave until he’s seen Peter actually enter the school.

 

The heat in his chest burns up, licking flames up into his cheeks. He storms into the building, and doesn’t even stop when he hears Liz tease, “Wow, Peter. Who’s your new sugar daddy?”

 

At one point in time, he would have been ashamed at how his teachers seem surprised to hear him respond when they call his name, the way each of them almost brushes past it, only calling him as a formality by this point. He maybe even still feels a little bad when Mr. C seem excited for a moment, only for his eyes to have dimmed when he tunes back in for a moment.

 

It goes better than he expected, in the way that no one asks him any overly invasive questions, and Flash seems to ignore him in the hallways.

 

It definitely goes worse than expected, though, in biology, when old Miss Schmidt, who always calls your full name during attendance, pretty much reveals to the whole class what had happened over his ‘break’ when she calls, “Peter Parker Stark?” and a ripple of whispers goes up in the class.

 

He doesn’t speak to anyone for the rest of the day.

* * *

 

When he walks out the front door, Happy is waiting, leaning back against his car again. It’s almost like he never left, and for a moment Peter considers that maybe the Avengers are all a lot crazier than he ever thought. Still, it’s a relief to duck into the car and slump down in the backseat and not be surrounded by people for a few minutes.

 

So of course that’s ruined as soon as possible.

 

There’s a crowd of people gathered around the tower. Paparazzi, Peter realizes pretty quickly, having been apart of crowds just like this many times before for the Bugle. Someone spies the car pulling toward the underground garage, and with a cry of, “Peter! Just one question!” the crowd converges on the car.

 

Cameras flash, even though Peter knows the windows are tinted. Still, he can’t help the gasp that escapes when they press against the doors. He sees Happy glance back at him, and then he’s rolling down the windows and shouting, things like, “Hey, outta the way,” and, “Mr. Parker Stark is not prepared to release an official statement. Now move it!” They get into the garage and Happy opens the door for him, but it takes a moment to figure out that he needs to get out of the car.

* * *

 

Mr. Stark is waiting for him in front of the elevator, on a floor Peter hasn’t yet been on. So one of the top ten, where Mr. Stark works with Dr. Banner on Avengers equipment. It’s one of the few places that Peter’s access to is limited. Mr. Stark doesn’t say anything at first, just wraps an arm around Peter’s shoulders and guides him down a long, bright white hallway. He stops in front of a door that is obviously thick, probably made of some heavy duty metal. 

 

Mr. Stark says, “That was unfortunate. I planned on having more time before you had to deal with the paparazzi.”

 

“It’s fine,” he says.

 

“You’re a bad liar.”

 

( _ You’ve got not idea how wrong you are. _ )

 

“Anyway, I thought we could have some fun today, and  _ you  _ are going to show me what you can do,” Mr. Stark says, suddenly cheerful. He raps on the heavy door. “This door is so heavy because sometimes - as in, a lot of times - stuff blows up.  _ We don’t do it on purpose, of course _ ,” he says exaggeratedly, looking pointedly at a camera down the hall, “but, y’know, sometimes stuff happens.”

 

He winks at Peter and throws the door open, letting it bang against the wall. Across the room, Bruce jumps, and turns around to give Mr. Stark a baleful look. His gaze wanders over to Peter, and he drawls, “My apologies.” Bruce turns around before he can see Mr. Stark pouting at him with the worst puppy dog eyes ever.

 

After a moment, though, they begin to drift to the large worktop in the center of the lab. It’s incredible to watch them work, Peter thinks. Mr. Stark keeps up a steady stream of chatter, both with Jarvis and at Bruce, and occasionally Bruce will reply in mumbles. They seem constantly aware of what the other is working on, and when one takes a moment to think, the other is already there to help. Peter steals one of the nearby stools and enjoys the show.

 

After a bit, though, Mr. Stark looks up and around his lab. “I’m bored, Bruce. Are you bored? Peter, I thought I said I wanted to see what you could do. Come over here. What do you wanna do.”

 

He thinks about it for a moment. Obviously, he would love to use this amazing equipment to give Spider-Man an upgrade - one of his webshooters is actually inside an old watch, and he’s proud of that ingenuity, but he would love to make use of some better quality materials - but he knows that’s not possible. He can’t think of any other way to make anything useful, so he turns his mind to something fun. It would be different from what he’s used to, but by the tired look on Bruce’s face, maybe it would do some good for somebody. Now he just had to come up with specifices.

 

He remembers one of the assignments from his science fiction literature class last year ( _ because of course he’s not going to just take a normal English class, where’s the fun in that? _ ). It was to present a speech on some cutting edge technology, and he remembers some kid Ned’s presentation on swarm bots - they had a more technical name, but basically, yeah. Swarm bots. Tiny little things with a wireless connection to increase their processing power, so that they’re capable of performing more complex tasks when they’re in groups. From what he can remember, they don’t have much use, yet, in other labs, but he can come up with a few off the top of his head.

 

Namely, getting revenge on Clint for that stupid comment this morning. A grin spreads across his face.

 

“I’ve got an idea.”

 

They work pretty late into the evening. Bruce seems amused by his endeavor, but Mr. Stark seems just as excited as he is once he hears what Peter has planned. It’s amazing working alongside Tony Stark. Peter’s capable, his webshooters and trackers are testament to that, but Mr. Stark is a master, and he’s able to completely subvert problems that would have otherwise slowed Peter down, maybe by days. Even so, he does seem to be doing exactly as he’d said, mostly observing and only offering the occasional bit of advice.

 

By the time they’ve pushed dinner back by a full two hours, Peter has seven small spiders, about the size of grapefruits. They’re a sleek matte black, with almost artfully shaped thin legs and light bodies that hold their hard drives. They’re equipped with tiny microphones for wireless local communication. He remembers the radio frequency that he’d keyed his trackers into to set off his spidey-sense, and carefully tunes the swarms so that they could potentially serve as some sort of surveillance system for him in the future. He finishes them off with carefully crafted silicone pads along the legs, modelled not after his own scopulae, but instead after the pads of a gecko’s feet, so that the swarm spiders, as he’s mentally taken to calling them, can crawl up walls and on the ceiling just like him. Finally, he produces a test tube of pale milky liquid (he doesn’t pull it from his pocket, like he could, but he’s already risking a lot as is, so instead he pours the ingredients into the beaker in front of him, confidently stirs it up, and he’s getting ready to pour it into the receptacle at the the swarm spiders’ rear. 

 

“What is  _ that _ ?”

 

Peter looks up with a grin. “Web fluid.”

 

He lets a tiny amount of slimy fluid waterfall into its place and clicks the cover of the body into place. He bends over in front of the original and taps the head gently. “Alright little guy, wake up now,” he whispers, and can’t contain the grin when the two little eyes on the face light up and the little creature stumbles around adorably, like a newborn foal, before it straightens up. He knows the exact moment the monitor catches sight of him, and the small bot lets outs a happy little chirping noise. He looks up at Mr. Stark and Bruce, who are both grinning widely, celebrating his success, and hopes that this will distract them from his web fluid long enough for them to forget.

* * *

 

After dinner, Peter tells them he’s going to go to his room and work on an assignment for school, but when Pepper taps on his door with two of Bruce’s cookies - the man is a surprisingly great baker - she finds him staring at the photo on his desktop. It’s of him and a pretty girl with windswept blonde hair in a cute sweater and a skirt. She’s quite a bit shorter than Peter, and tucked under his arm, her own wrapped around his waist. They’re both smiling brightly, standing in front of the globe in Corona Park. 

 

“She’s pretty,” she says. “Your girlfriend?” 

 

“Used to be.”

 

“Oh. I understand,” she says, and she really does. “Going through a breakup is hard.”

 

But he shakes his head. “We didn’t break up. She … she’s gone. She died.”

 

A fresh wave of sadness rushes through her for this sweet boy who has lost so much. “I’m sorry,” she says, voice suddenly hoarse so it comes out a whisper.

 

He just shrugs. “She was different. That’s really cliche, and a lot of people say that, but she really was. She was so smart and compassionate. Y’know, most girls smell like vanilla and sugar, or flowers. But she smelled like sunshine. Apples and eucalyptus and spearmint and sunshine.”

 

She tries to lighten the mood. “I didn’t realize people could smell like sunshine.” It’s a bad joke, and it falls flat, but for some reason he smiles, so sweet and earnest that Pepper feels her heart shatter apart.

 

“She does,” he says, and Pepper can hear it. The love in his voice. But then his smile droops, becomes something sadder. “She did, at least. She was made of sunshine. I … if it’s all the same, I’d prefer not to talk about this anymore.”

 

“Of course,” she whispers, and doesn’t bother fighting the urge to wrap him up in her arms. For a moment, she thinks she might keep him there forever. “If you ever do, I’m here for you.”

* * *

  
  


That night, the peace of the tower as everyone is getting ready for bed is disturbed when someone screams. Peter grins.

 

“Good work, Aragog.”


	7. Chapter 7

Wednesday morning, Clint strolls off the elevator and wanders into the kitchen. Mr. Stark snickers as he watches him walk past, and a tingle starts up at the back of Peter’s neck, sort of like the Spidey sense, but he can tell that he’s not the one in danger. On his right, he barely hears Natasha let out a faint little chuckle. Her eyes trail Clint into the kitchen, and the smile on her face is a bit more amused, and maybe a little meaner, than the bland little fake smiles she’s offered Peter a couple of times.

 

A slip of paper slides in front of his bowl of cereal.

 

_Last night, Clint woke up half the residential floors screaming about little monsters in his room._

_Those floors are supposed to be soundproof._

 

He looks over at Pepper, who gives him half exasperated grin.

 

Clint comes back with a handful of cutlery. He pins Mr. Stark with a glare and asks, in a cold tone that Peter hasn’t ever heard from him before, even during a fight, “Care to explain why I found of bunch of robot spiders in my bed when I was about to go to sleep last night.”

 

Mr. Stark puts his hands up like he’s trying to appease a hostile, but his tone says he finds this incredibly funny. “Hey, don’t look at me. They’re not mine. Talk to the kid.”

 

… Yeah, thanks, Mr. Stark.

 

Clint whirls around, fork at the ready, and asks, “Well, kid?”

 

He can admit this: he’s not good with conflict. Of course he can beat a bunch of robbers to a pulp, he’s defeated Electro and the Green Goblin ( _both generations_ ), but face to face confrontation sucks and he’s bad at it. So he’s totally not thinking when he Clint the most innocent puppy dog eyes he can and stage whispers, “Are you telling me you _don’t_ like spiders?” He glances at Natasha out of the corner of his eye.

 

Natasha snorts. It’s a dainty sound, and Peter absently wonders how she does that because Gwen never snorted - she usually chuckled or giggled, and yes there’s a difference ( _she’d chuckle when he made sarcastic comments under his breath, especially in class, but she’d_ giggle _when he did something clumsy, and usually afterwards she’d run her hand through his hair and tell him he was cute and it would make his heart do this little flip flop in his chest_ ) - but he’d heard MJ snort once, before she caught a bus to Hollywood, and it was loud and definitely not dainty. Mr. Stark chokes on the juice Pepper had pushed on him, and Steve has a tear running down his cheek, and his shoulders are shaking but he’s _definitely not laughing, guys_ . Thor doesn’t even bother with subtlety ( _Peter knows he’s a lot smarter than some people give him credit for, but he doubts the guy even knows the meaning of that particular word_ ), letting loose another one of those booming laughs that rattles the cabinets. Clint stares at him for a minute, then looks down at the fork in his hands, then back at him, and Peter wonders if he’s debating whether or not it’s worth it to throw the thing at what he thinks is a non-super powered teenager, so he’s pretty glad when Pepper’s phone goes off with a shrill beeping.

 

She answers cheerfully, but after a moment her voice is terse and unhappy, and when she ends the phone calls it’s by practically stabbing the little red button on the screen, and then she levels Mr. Stark with the most unimpressed look possible and says, “Everyone in San Diego is hopeless. Get dressed.”

 

Peter stops on the roof to say goodbye to Pepper and Mr. Stark before school. It’s strange that his heart warms up when Pepper brushes his back and presses a kiss to his forehead. It reminds him too much of Aunt May, but it also feels right for Pepper. “We shouldn’t be gone long,” she says when she steps back.

 

Mr. Stark smirks. “But we know you’ll miss us anyway. I mean, I already miss me.”

 

Peter grins and scratches the back of his head. He’s feeling awkward now, and he doesn’t quite know why, but he wants to turn around and take that elevator right back down to the ground floor. For the first time in a long time, he can’t wait to go school. He scuffs his shoe against the floor, and with as much wry inflection as he can manage, says, “Oh, I’m sure.” He takes a deep breath and straightens up. “Well, goodbye then. Pepper. Um. Mr. Stark.”

 

Mr. Stark lets out loud squawking noise. “Kid, no!” He gasps, gesturing wildly. “Call me Tony. Christ, you’ll make me feel old!”

 

Pepper laughs sweetly. “As is a kid’s job,” she teases.

 

She gives him a little finger wave before disappearing into the jet.

  
And maybe Peter feels a bubble of something like happiness inside his chest when he rides the elevator down to the garage. It might even somehow survive the car ride past the reporters and photographers still camped outside the tower, a reminder of his revelation from the day before that his life was truly never going to be the same.

 

Because maybe it won’t, but it seems like it'll be a good life all the same.

* * *

 

When he gets to school, he’s a little surprised to see someone waiting by his locker.

 

Tan, just as skinny as Peter, and little bit shorter, Randy Robertson is the son of one of the editors at the Bugle, who asked Peter to show him around the school - and maybe keep an eye out for him - earlier that year. He hasn’t seen Randy since his … hiatus, but it’s good to see that the younger boy is thankfully bruise free and mostly unrumpled ( _he knows just how unforgiving this particular school can be, for those who prefer intellectual pursuits, which is maybe a pretty stupid attitude for a school with a focus in science_ ).

 

“Peter!” Randy cries, but then he looks around quickly, as if there are monsters around the corner. When Flash skulks past, for once not surrounded by usual posse, Peter thinks that maybe he’s not that far off from the truth.

 

“Is it true?” Randy asks as Peter is putting his jacket in his locker. There’s a smudge of dirt against one wall, where his skateboard used to lean.

 

“Is what true?”

 

“That you’re - y’know. That _Tony Stark_ adopted you!”

 

Peter shrugs. “Yeah, it’s true.”

 

Randy nods sagely, before he breaks into a big grin. “Dude, that’s so awesome. Have you seen the Iron Man suit? I bet you’re gonna meet all the hot actresses and models - I’m so friggin jealous! Wait, you could get my dad an interview!”

 

Peter laughs. “I don’t know if I can just get an interview, but if Lisa, his new assistant, is looking for someone, I’ll put in a good word.” Randy nodded.

 

“Definitely.”

* * *

 

The trouble doesn’t start until after lunch. He and Randy had secured their own table, in the corner, and Randy even shared some of his mom’s homemade cake because he’s kind of awesome like that. They’re just getting ready to leave when Alex Beckner, the twirp, rounds the corner and Peter knows the rest of the day is going to suck.

 

“Hey! Peter, buddy!” Peter really hates out Beckner calls him, ‘buddy’ like they’re friends. He tucks his head down, grabs Randy’s arm, and tries to tug him along without using his super strength.

 

“Parker! I was talking to you! Or do you think that just because you’re Starks newest publicity stunt that you’re too good for us normal people?”

 

Normal? Peter hadn’t realized that monkeys that could play basketball were considered ‘normal’ now, but hey. Whatever floats your pineapple.

 

“I mean, I guess it makes sense, you had to find a new sugar daddy now that Osborn’s not around, huh?” His shoulders tense at the reminder that his former friend is now stuck in some prison or psychiatric ward, but he just pulls harder at Randy’s arm, since apparently he’s grown roots now.

 

“Aww, is this your new boyfriend? Stark lets you have one of those when you’re not under his desk?” A flame lights up in his chest. He doesn’t know why he cares what this jerk thinks - he knows it isn’t like that with Tony.

  
But then Beckner says the one thing that he can’t forgive. “Didn’t you move on from Gwen a little fast, though? What was wrong with her? Not rich enough? Did she not put out?”

 

Everything goes red. That’s the only way he can describe it. One minute he’s trying to pull Randy along, the next he’s doing his best to introduce his fist to Beckner’s back molars. Somehow the others in Beckner’s little clique get involved. Someone gives Randy a black eye when he tries to pull Peter away. Beckner gets a fistful of Peter’s hair and rams his fist into Peter’s cheek, but he barely feels in. He kicks, and feels the meaty thud of his foot against Beckner’s hip. It pushes him back enough that he drops’ his hold on Peter’s hair.

 

And then there are teachers there, trying to pull them apart. He sees their faces, and it gives him just enough time to cool down. He doesn’t want to kill Beckner, as much of a jerk as he is. No matter what lines he crosses. It’s the one rule he has to follow - Uncle Ben would expect better than this.

 

He lets the teacher drag him to the principal’s office.

* * *

 

Steve is down in the gym, two bags down, when he gets the phone call.

 

He’s grabbing his towel and heading back to the commons for a pair of keys in an instant. He nearly runs Bruce over when the elevator opens in the commons.

 

“Whoa. What’s going on?”

 

“It’s Peter. He got in a fight at school.” He grabs the keys to the jeep that reminds him of the old caravans that brought supplies to the camps in his time, and immediately turns to get back into the elevator. He doesn’t question when Bruce follows him.

* * *

 

His hands tighten on the steering wheel. “Why would he get in a fight? From the way Tony talks, and what I’ve seen, I thought things were getting better.”

 

Bruce doesn’t answer right away. He seems to be thinking about the answer. “He’s angry. I don’t know why, but he definitely is. He’s hiding it better, now, I think, but that’s not the best way to deal with it. In fact, he’s handling it poorly. He doesn’t use anyone’s names, have you noticed? And he avoids most of us. Especially Clint and Natasha; I think that line about spiders this morning was the first time he’s spoken to Clint at all, and it’s obvious Natasha doesn’t know how to interact with him. He’s trying to isolate himself, and speaking from experience, that rarely helps.”

 

Steve just looks at his hands for a moment. It’s not the answer he’s looking for. Then again, he doesn’t really know what answer he would actually want to hear. He sighs. The best they can do for now is bring him home.

* * *

 

The lady in the front desk seems stark struck the instant Steve walks in. It’s bad enough that when he asks her where the principal’s office is, she just stutters for a few seconds before, blushing, she literally points him in the right direction.

 

They do find the right place in only a few minutes, though. He walks in to see Peter sitting in front of the desk, slouched down about as far as he can be while staying in his seat, arms crossed. His legs are tucked under, but he’s staring out the window. In the middle of the row is another boy, just as skinny as Peter, which surprises him. He’s nervously bouncing his knee, and he’s wringing his hands in his lap. The final boy to round out the row is much bigger than the other two, obviously taller and more muscular. He’s also got his arms crossed, refusing to look at the principal. He legs are spread out, taking up as much room as he can while he sulks.

 

The principal is obviously surprised when Steve walks in. He was in the middle of a lecture but when he catches sight of one of the _Avengers_ in his office, he falls silent.

 

“Excuse me,” Steve says lightly. “I’m here to pick up Peter.”

 

“Of - of course.” The principal stutters. He clears his throat, and then looks at Peter, who has already stood and walked to the door. Steve drops a hand onto his shoulder. “You can come back next Monday. Your teacher’s will email you your assignments - you’re expected to complete them all.”

 

Peter sighs, but nods. “Of course, sir.”

 

The big boy snickers. “Of course, sir,” he says under his breath, in a mocking tone. “No wonder Gwen couldn’t wait to leave you.”

 

He can see it, the instant rage takes over. He’s so used to watching for the signs in Bruce, that they’re easy to spot now, and he reflexively catches the teen around the waist when he nearly throws himself at the other boy.

 

He’s shocked by just how much he has to put into holding the boy back, especially when he snarls, “You leave her out of this, asshole. I’ll cave your face in!”

 

The principal stands quickly. “Get going, Mr. Parker, before I have to do something drastic.”

 

Steve quickly drags the boy out of the office.

* * *

 

He chorrals Peter into the backseat of the car. Once they’re on the road, he sees Bruce turn around in his seat to meet Peter’s gaze.

 

“Peter, would you tell me what happened today?”

 

He’s slumped down in the backseat, so low Steve can only see the top of his head in the rearview mirror. It takes a minute for Peter answer, and when he does, his voice is low. He grumbles, “Beckner started talking trash. It was fine, right? Same stuff everyday, so it’s not like I couldn’t ignore it, but then he brought up Gwen, and I just couldn’t …” He lets out a growl.

 

“I can understand how certain things can be hard to hear, Peter, but you have to understand that lashing out is not the way to handle that. I know better than most exactly how destructive a bad reaction can be, and even if you had a bad break up, that’s no reason to get into a fight…”

 

“But she didn’t leave me,” Peter snaps. Throughout Bruce’s lecture, he had been steadily growing more agitated, and now came the explosion. “She _died_ . She was _murdered_!” He sags against his seat, and Steve exchanges a quick glance with Bruce before the light turns green again.

 

“I’m sorry, Peter. We had no idea,” he says.

 

“She was taken hostage by the Goblin,” he says. “He threw her off a building. Spider-Man tried to save her, but he wasn’t quick enough. She _died_ , and that idiot Beckner thought it was something to joke about.”

 

There’s silence for a few moments. Finally, Bruce says, quietly, “I hadn’t realized you had to go through something like that. I’m very sorry. I think I, and Steve, understand you and what you’ve been going through a bit better now.”

 

Peter doesn’t respond.

 

When they get back to the tower, he steps off the elevator at his floor without a clipped, “I have homework.”

* * *

 

They sit in the lounge in the commons, completely silent. Everyone seems to be absorbing Bruce’s retelling of the afternoon’s events. Clint runs a hand through his hair. “Well, crap.”

 

Bruce sighs. “I can only imagine how he feels right now.”

 

“Probably furious and completely helpless,” Natasha states. The others turn their attention to her. “Think about it. He’s lost his entire family, in ways where there was nothing he could do to stop it. His parents disappear and die in a plane crash when he was young, his uncle is murdered by a thief, his girlfriend is murdered by a villain, his aunt dies of a heart attack, and now he’s stuck living with a bunch of superheroes. He’s constantly bullied, and it’s not like he’s the kind of guy that can put up much of a fight in the first place.”

 

There’s another moment of silence. Finally Clint says, “Did you google him or something?”

 

Steve doesn’t look away from Natasha. “What do you think we should do? How can we help him?”

 

“Maybe we could try evening out the playing field a little.”

* * *

 

There’s a knock at his door, and Peter scowls. He goes to throw his pencil down on his journal, only to notice that the pencil is in three pieces. He snarls. He hasn’t lost control like this since the early days, when he didn’t know how to blunder through life without breaking everything, and every _ one _ , he touched. He had been so careful in those day - had to be, for the safety of everyone around him. Now it feels like he’s started all over again, in some mockery of Sisyphus, trying to regain his self control.

 

“Come in,” he sighs when there’s another knock at the door.

 

In steps Steve, and, to his surprise, Natasha. 

 

“Hey, Peter. There’s something I’d like to try. Would you get changed into something comfortable and join me in the gym in a few minutes?” Natasha asks sweetly, and suspicion bubbles up. Natasha is a manipulator, he knows. Not only that, she’s a spy, and excellent at finding exactly what you don’t what to give up.

 

He’s had a few run-ins with her, as Spider-Man, when she was out for his identity. She had tried asking nicely, and then tried to stalk him home, and when that failed, she had attacked him once. That was terrifying, but he managed to get away with most of his dignity intact.

 

So obviously he agrees to join her in the gym in ten minutes, because Peter Parker Stark isn’t supposed to know any of that.

* * *

 

“Hit me.”

 

“... Excuse me, could you repeat that?”   
  


“I think you could benefit from some self defense lessons, Peter. Both because I think it would help you to move on from your past, and because you are Tony Stark’s heir, and if you haven’t seen the news this year, there are some very powerful people out there who hold strong grudges against him. So, hit me.”

 

He glances at Steve, who is standing at the edge of the mat with his arms crossed. ( _ Tumblr wasn’t messing around; waist to shoulder ratio of a Dorito indeed…. _ ) The man just give him an encouraging smile.

 

So with a sigh, he tries to punch Natasha. Of course, she dodges it easily. He’s moving much slower than he would normally, and if he’s being honest, he has no idea how much force to use. ( _ He knows how to hit criminals, but that’s different. That’s as Spider-Man, strong, powerful, witty, vigilante Spider-Man who has super strength, so he doesn’t  _ have  _ to try and hit like a normal person _ .)

 

His spidey sense gives a weak flutter. She tags him in the jaw. 

  
“Hey!” He whines, rubbing his chin. Her brows tug down together a little.

 

“I said hit me. I don’t need you to hold back, I can take it.”

 

“I know  _ you  _ can,” he mutters. “I don’t know if I can, though.”

 

She sets herself back into a ready position. “I won’t hurt you. Much.”

 

How reassuring.

 

He considers her for a moment. They know he got into a fight at school. He won’t have any bruises, because no way Beckner is strong enough to hurt him. So they’ll probably think he won. And there was that night, when Pepper and Tony saw his bruises and scars. Who knows what they think he gets up to at night.

A curl of mischief tangles in his head. It’s stupid, and if he had more time to think about it, he’d definitely berate himself for this. But in the moment, it seems like a great idea. He’ll give them something to think about.

He strikes out at Natasha again, with a few jabs that he remembers seeing during those first few weeks when he had just gotten his powers and he tried to earn some money fighting. He makes sure they’re fast, but not super-humanly so.

It catches her off guard, and he lands both blows easily. She’ll have a pretty bruise on her jaw to match Randy’s, he thinks.

He brings his hands up, in that boxers pose that he hasn’t used in what feels like forever. A whole lifetime ago, really.

He can tell Natasha is surprised. She doesn’t show it on her face, but he can read it in the stillness of her posture. He can definitely see Steve’s jaw on the floor over there.

He peeks around his hands to deliver Natasha a smirk, as cocky as he can make it.

“Ok, big boy, if that’s how you wanna play it,” Natasha teases, and then she runs at him.

He got used to dodging back in the rings, before he was sure of himself and his ability to hit someone without putting them down right away, but he’s feeling reckless, and he wants to see how far he can push his luck. He ducks underneath her flying tackle, which sends her rolling over his back. He sends a donkey kick back at her, but she uses the momentum of her roll to continue out of the way.

He steps back, bouncing lightly on his toes with his hands still up, while she does this graceful move to get to her feet.

“So you box, huh. Is that where you got those bruises?” She looking at his chest pointedly, but Peter knows her MO, and he remembers this game, riling up his opponents before he finished them quickly.

He cocks his head and grins. 

“Maybe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why yes, MJ Watson and Ned Leeds did sneak into this fic, even though neither play a role in the Amazing Spider-Man series, nor have I ever even seen Homecoming. Also, I'm not completely satisfied with the ending of this chappie. Let me know what you think.


	8. Chapter 8

Tony and Pepper come home early Thursday morning. Steve is already up, having just gotten back from his run, and he asks them to sit down so he can let them know what had happened the day before. Pepper, of course, is shocked.

“I had no idea,” she whispers. “I knew Gwen had died, but … that’s truly awful.”  
  
Tony, on the other hand, is grinning. “You’re telling me he was able to hit you. _You_? In the face?”

 

Steve self consciously rubs his cheek. “I didn’t expect him to be able react so quickly. He has some sort of experience, Natasha says it was boxing, and he seemed ok with fighting dirty.”

 

Tony laughs loudly, and Steve knows he’s going to be reviewing the security footage of the spar as soon as he gets the chance. He just hopes he can survive the ribbing he’s going to get from the others.

 

Honestly, getting tagged by a kid. He chuckled. What a gas.

* * *

 

“I am not freaking out,” he tells himself, while internally totally freaking out. He had watched, from the rooftop of a nearby hotel, as the private jet landed on top of the tower.

 

Which meant Pepper and Tony were home.

 

And he, obviously since he saw them arrive, _was not_.

 

But it was fine.

 

He just had to get inside, and get changed out of his Spider-Man suit, and hide said suit, before they came looking for him.

 

Right.

 

Super fine.

 

He had managed to jump onto the building something like twenty stories up without disturbing the scientists inside or making Jarvis set of the alarms, which right there was practically something to celebrate. He climbed all the way up to his own windows, in fact, without tripping any alarms, and that was starting to be suspiciously good luck.

 

So maybe it isn’t at all surprising when he discovers that the windows, which were installed in such a way that allowed for a rectangular section at the top of each window to open (ostensibly to let in a breeze when the weather permitted) are _definitely locked_ and _not going to open_.

 

“But I’m not freaking out,” he mutters.

 

And maybe he bangs his head against the window a couple of times.

 

Because stupidity always goes down easier with a little pain, just to rub it in.

 

“Might I be of assistance, young master?”

 

Peter lets out a little shriek, and nearly lets go of the window.

 

Which would, y’know. Be Bad. Capital B and everything.

 

“Uh, hey, Jarvis. Buddy. Umm. _What’d you call me_?” His voice reaches an impressively high soprano pitch there, but he’s probably just imagining those dogs parking in the distance, so it’s fine.

 

“Young master, do come it. It’s rather chilly outside at these heights.”

 

And the window slot thingy clicks and swings open.

 

He spares a glance around, but there’s nobody watching the random Spider-Man sneaking into Tony Stark’s adopted son’s bedroom, according to his spidey sense, so he crawls in quickly, and hears the window latch shut behind him.

 

Instantly he’s pulling off the mask and squirming out of his sweat soaked suit. ( _He’ll need to find a way to wash this, before someone makes a comment and Jameson has something new and extra embarrassing to run on Spidey. He’s not sure how body odor would turn into evil, but then people probably thought the same thing about Axe body spray, and now look at it. Bane of middle school boys’ locker rooms everywhere._ )

 

“So, Jarvis.” He clears his throat while he stuffs the suit back into the safe. “How - um. How exactly did you know I was … me?”

 

“Comparative analysis of the pitch of your voice and lexical density and vocabulary of your speech, as well as a comparison of your body type and more common movements, such as the way you walk and punch.”

 

Peter blinks. And pulls a shirt on. “Well, ok.” Then he fully processes the situation. So of course what came out was: “Wait, you’re Jarvis!”

 

There’s a moment of silence. Apparently even computers can be dumbfounded by stupid observations. “Indeed, young master.”

 

“I mean, you, like, belong to Tony, right?”

 

“I do indeed serve sir, young master.”

 

“Is there, at all, any possible way you could keep this between you and me, buddy?” He’s maybe getting desperate. Sue him. Actually, don’t. Tony probably wouldn’t let him live that down.

 

“Of course, young master.”

 

“Wait, whaa?”

 

“As I told you earlier, as sir’s son, you are afforded certain privileges inside the tower. I will not tell sir that you are Spider-Man unless he asks.”

 

He can’t help the immediate reaction of childishly shushing Jarvis at the mention of his identity, but still. He smiles, and whispers, “Thanks, Jarvis,” just as there’s a tap at the door.

 

“Hey, Peter,” Pepper says as she pushes the door open. “Steve told us about yesterday.” She steps in and takes a seat on the foot of his bed.

 

“Yeah…” Peter mumbles. He rubs the back of his neck and turns around to face her, but then she gasps and jumps up, and she’s holding his face.

 

He gives her a confused look, and she sighs. “Your cheek is all bruised up,” she murmurs.

 

He shrugs. “Nothing I’m not used to,” he says, and then he could have hit himself. _Stupid thing to say, Parker. Mouth, meet foot._

 

Pepper doesn’t seem surprised, though, just sad. She strokes a thumb over his cheek, and for a moment Peter is reminded of May seeing him that night, after the Connors had tried to turn New York into some scientologist’s wet dream. She held his face just like this, in their kitchen.

 

It was a lifetime ago.

 

Pepper’s gaze wanders over his shoulder, and suddenly she lights up. “I have an idea. Grab your camera and meet me in the garage!”

 

He watches her dance out of his room.

 

“What?”

* * *

 

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

  
“Nope.”

 

Well ok then.

* * *

 

They pull into the parking lot of Kissena Park. He glances at her in surprise. She grins as pulls the key out of the ignition, and then points at the camera in his lap.

 

“You don’t have to go to school today, right? So you’re going to show me how you use that thing.”

 

It takes a minute to set in, but when it does, he grins.

 

“Alright.”

 

He shows her the absolute basics first. This is the little hole you look through, and this is the button you press to take the photo. Then he gets into the fun stuff.

 

“You can adjust the shutter speed with this little dial, and it shows up on the screen here, see? Since we don’t have a tripod, it’s best to keep it above one sixtieth of a second. To adjust the aperture - that’s how big the opening of the lens it, it basically controls the field of view - just hold this button down, here, about half way, and then adjust the same dial you used to control the shutter speed. A low number means that you’ve got a big opening for light to come through, and that gives you a more shallow depth of field. That means that there would be a smaller area where the items in the photo are in focus. So when you see those photos that are close ups of like one flower, and the whole background is blurry, that’s probably using a pretty low aperture."

 

 

He cuts himself off when he sees Pepper doing the classic 'smile and nod so it goes away faster,' thing that he used to do when Aunt May introduced him to her friends and they started chattering like old women like to do. He feels the familiar burn of embarrassment in his cheeks, so he tries to wrap up his mini lecture quickly.

 

“You can start to do some really cool things when you mess with shutter speed. Really fast shutter speeds are great for action shots - a single raindrop, or a person in motion - but slow shutter speeds give you the really artsy stuff, like light painting. We’ll just have some fun today, though. This isn't a class or something.”

 

So that’s what they do. He has her take pictures of all the exotic trees and the lake and even some of the people who are out enjoying a Thursday afternoon at the park. He climbs one of the trees and she takes of picture of him making funny faces and hanging from the branches until someone comes along and yells at him to get down. He does, and they run off giggling like little kids.

 

When the sun is setting, casting soft shadows through the leaves, he takes the camera back, and he gets a picture of her throwing some of the leaves from the ground into the air ( _they form a halo around her head, and he thinks this is one that will go in his journal_ ). They walk back to her car, and take pictures together the whole way, grinning or making silly faces or completely serious. At the entrance, she stops a tall, haggard looking blond man and asks him to get a picture of them. He does, even though he seems agitated and returns the camera to Peter roughly, practically shoving it into his stomach.

 

He gives Pepper a curious look, but they still climb into the car without a word. Where they promptly burst into laughter again, and can’t look at each other for the whole ride back to the tower or they’ll start snickering again.

* * *

 

They get up to the commons and collapse in the lounge together. Steve spares them a glance and a small smile before he returns to his sketchbook. After a moment, Peter holds his camera out to her. “This button pulls up the menu, and you can select the gallery to see all the photos that are saved on the camera. Why don’t you pick your favorite?”

 

He hands the camera off to her again, and watches her react to each one with something warm in his chest. She smiles at some, and some even inspire a snicker. Then her face goes slack with awe for a moment, and he turns the screen to him. He sees his picture of her in profile by the lake in almost perfect silhouette. The sun, and he’s proud of this, just peaks out in front of her chest, and it kind of reminds him of the arc reactor, except in sunset golden.

 

“You’re really good at this, Peter,” she says softly. He grins and runs a self-conscious hand through his hair. She keeps clicking through the photos, until once again her eyes go wide.

 

But this time when she turns the screen to him, it’s not a photo from this afternoon.

 

“ _You’ve taken photos of_ Spider-Man?” She gasps. Steve jerks up to stare at him in shock. Tony leans around the pillar that rises out of the end of the cabinets between the lounge and kitchen, a look of surprise on his face. Natasha looks up from her book and quirks a finely shaped brow. Clint’s head and shoulders pop out of the vent above the refrigerator and he lets out a world noise of shock.

 

He half expects Thor to come crashing in through the window shouting about his unyouthful dalliances before he remembers that that’s the wrong fandom and Thor’s off in Arizona or something.

 

“Uh…. yeah.”

 

She gives him this look, the mother kind that says, ‘Explain. Now.’

 

“Umm, I used to work for the Daily Bugle,” he says. “Well, sort of. I was technically a freelance photographer. I sold photos if I had anything that was relevant, and if there’s one thing that’s always relevant to Jameson, it’s Spidey.”

 

She looks back down at the screen, taking in the crisp details, the contrast of his suit against the rainy cement rooftop as he sits in his iconic crouch on the edge. She seems kind of shocked, and Peter can’t really blame her. A look of realization crosses her eyes. “The Bugle is the only place that’s been able to produce photos of him. That was you?”

 

He nods hesitantly.

 

“Wait a minute,” Clint yelps. “How was a kid able to get pictures of Spider-Man? Even Nat and I haven’t been able to get one!”

 

He shifts in his seat nervously. “Well, mostly it was a lot of, ‘right time, right place,’ but I’m also pretty sure he let me.”

 

“Let. You?” Tony chokes out.

 

“Well, yeah. I mean, you knew he’s kinda psychic, right?”

 

Clint falls out of the vent.

 

“Psychic?”

 

“Yeah. Like, some sort danger sense. The ‘spidey sense.’ It lets him avoid danger, I guess. And not just that - he can dodge cameras like he can dodge bullets. When I asked, he just told me something vague about his identity being his life. But yeah. Every other photographer in New York gets nothing but blurs and somehow I get perfect stills? They’re almost like he posed. I know I’m good, but I'm not that good,” he says with a crooked grin. ( _He’s getting better and better at lying_.) “No idea why he picked me, though.”

 

Natasha seems to think something is off with his story, though. Her eyes are narrowed. “Maybe he’s someone close to you, then,” she says.

 

He shrugs. “Maybe. I’m not sure I want to know, anymore.”

 

Tony seems to think this is the most outrageous statement of the night. “What do you mean you don’t want to know? He _landed_ on me!”

 

The other Avengers let out little snickers, remembering the noise he’d made when Spider-Man had jumped on him.

 

Natasha clears her throat. “More importantly, he’s an unknown element with no accountability. If he decided to go rogue there’s no way for anyone to hold him responsible.”

 

Peter stands, and makes his way over to the elevator. Before he walks out, he says, quietly, “If there’s one thing I know about Spider-Man, it’s that he understands responsibility.”

* * *

 

That night, he stands in his room feeling a familiar jittery energy spread through his limbs, accompanied by a flush of anger and pain.

 

"Stupid," he groans. He presses the heel of his hands into his eyes until he sees stars behind his eyelids.  Honestly. Telling Clint -  _Hawkeye!_ \- about the spidey sense. And Natasha! He might as well hand himself to S.H.I.E.L.D. If anyone could figure out a way to work around his sixth sense and take him down, it's the Black Widow. 

 

The rush of air against his face and the thrill of a fight calls him. He paces the room twenty four times before he can’t take it anymore, so he locks his door and shoves the dresser out of the way.

  
“Heading out, young master?”

  
“I need to.”

 

The window clicks open.

* * *

 

He finds a group of kids, his age or a little older, sitting in the dark at the skatepark.  They’re passing around a joint, and most of them already seem to be flying like a kite. He sighs and jumps down to the ground in front of them. He really hates walking drunk or stoned kids home, but it’s better than the alternative.

 

Except when they see him, most let out muffled curses and make a break for it. They’re still sober enough to mostly stay on their feet, so he lets them go, and turns his attention to the one who hadn’t moved.

 

He could’ve been the one cursing.

 

Alex Beckner lays on his back and giggles when he sees Spider-Man standing above him. “Hey, Spidey,” he slurs. Peter groans.

 

“Let’s get you home,” he mutters. He scoops Beckner up into his arms, already too tired to deal with this crap. “Hey man, you awake? I need you to tell me your address.”

 

The kid giggles and jarbles out something that might be an address, and luckily the street isn’t too far away. Then he suddenly goes quiet for one blissful moment.

 

“Hey. Hey Spidey.” And he ruins it. He pushes against Peter’s should insistently. “Spidey. Hey. Psst. Spidey.”

 

“What?”

  
“You’re good at giving advice, right? That’s something superheroes should be able to do. Do superheroes do therapy? I bet it would be good for you guys.” Actually, that’s probably not such a bad idea. “I got something I think could use some spidey-vice.” He breaks down into laughter again.

 

Peter wonders how many times he can sigh in one night. “What’s your problem?”

 

“Well, see, I like this guy. But I’m not, like, gay or anything.” With a dawning sense of horror, Peter can see exactly where this is going. “His name is Peter.” Yep. Table for one in hell, please? “He’s this nerd at my school, but like. He’s pretty.” Beckner giggles again, and strokes a hand over Peter’s mask. He thinks he might gag.

 

“I’m guessing he’s not interested?” He says, instead.

 

“No! Well, I haven’t exactly asked, but I’ve been a pretty big jerk, so…”

 

He stops in front of a house. Fairly average. Most of the lights are off. It reminds Peter painfully of his aunt and uncle’s home.

 

“My advice? Maybe don’t do that. Y’know. Be nice. And if he says no, respect that.”

 

He drops Beckner off on the porch and rings the doorbell before webbing off quickly.

 

He kind of needs to hit something.

* * *

 

He doesn’t get back until early morning. In fact, by the time he has returned, the Avengers are already sitting at the breakfast bar. He knows this because the elevator lets him off on the commons floor instead of his own as he’d asked. They all stare at him when he walks in.

 

He can feel the dull sting of the bruises all over his face acutely now, and he’s definitely aware of the cracked ribs that are forcing him to favor his left side.

 

Tony doesn’t look angry, which Peter gathers is probably a bad sign.

 

“Where were you?” He asks, deadly calm.

 

“Out.”

 

He watches Tony’s fists clench tight. “What were you doing, while you were ‘out?’”

  
Peter shrugs. “Who knows.” He crosses his arms and leans back against the wall.

 

Tony leans forward. “Where do you get the bruises, Peter? What are you doing at night that you keep getting hurt?”

 

He smirks. ( _He’s falling down the hole in his chest and he doesn’t want to hurt anyone else but he can’t help pulling them down with him when he reaches out for help_ .) “Maybe I like a little trouble,” he says, silky smooth. “What’s it even matter to you?”  
  
They all look surprised. Steve even looks a little uncomfortable when he asks, “Are you saying you’re getting into fights, Peter?”

 

He flinches. “Look, I know my place, alright? I’m fine being your publicity stunt - this is the best I’ve eaten in years. I won’t wind up in the papers for doing anything too stupid.”  
  
He turns right around and heads out the door to the stairwell. There are numerous security stops along the way to the front door, but if Tony wanted a docile zoo animal for a son, he shouldn’t have picked someone that was smart enough to disable his mechanical babysitter.

 

Exactly fourteen minutes later, he’s out in the smoggy early morning air. Jarvis didn’t even know what hit him.

* * *

 

 

"What was it you said? A masterpiece will change? So, too, has our plan."

 

"What are you going to do now?"

 

"That's quite simple, actually. I have a prime opportunity to strike Spider-Man as he once wronged me. We go after the woman."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, quick poll for y’all. I’m taking your opinions into account when I decide what fic to work on next. The options are either a sequel, of sorts, to Five Times Flash Patched Up Spider-Man which would be called something like Five Times Flash Met a Superhero (And One Time He Became One), or another take on a Spidey origin story, featuring a more reluctant version of our favorite webslinger. Whichever you guys choose, it will be updated much slower since I’ll be back in school on Monday, but I’d love to get a feel for what you guys want to read.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for some swearing in this chapter. 
> 
> Ok! I'm so sorry, guys: Monday (and a new school semester) came before I was able to finish this fic. As recompense, I will be posting the final chapter to this fic shortly after this one. I would like to thank you all, so much, for the many kudos and lovely comments I've received over the last few weeks. 
> 
> I will continue to keep track of the votes for my next fic until the 21st of January. I hope to see many return readers, and I hope that you enjoy the thrilling conclusion to this story!

* * *

 

In the wake of Peter’s disappearance, the Avengers sit in stunned silence.

 

“Nice job, Tony,” Clint mutters.

 

“He knows his place…?” Tony chokes out. “What does that even _mean_?!”

 

He looks out at his team, but no one has an answer.

* * *

 

Day fades into night. Morning eventually returns to the tower. Peter does not. By the time Tony’s shifted from trying to pull his hair out clump by clump to staring at the cabinet that used to hold liquor with a look that could only be described as ‘abject longing,’ and Pepper is curled up in the corner of the lounge with her head in her hands, Steve makes up his mind that someone will just have to go out and track the boy down.

 

He’d nominate Natasha.

 

But just then there’s an alarm. Blaringly loud, lights flashing around the room, and Jarvis says, “Sir, it appears that there are more riots in Manhattan.”

 

The TV goes static-y for a moment, and then it clears up on a Breaking News segment.

 

“...unsure what the cause of the incident is, but witnesses report seeing a chalky gas spreading out over the skyline of Manhattan shortly before the seemingly unprovoked, violent riots broke out. Police in gas masks are setting up traffic blocks onto and off of the island, and state government has issued a notice stating that passage through the area will be restricted until the issue is settled. We’ll keep you updated as the situation unfolds here at New York’s number one source for breaking news coverage …”

 

Of course. Of f-ing course. With a tired sigh, he looked at his team. “Let’s go.”

* * *

 

He stands before his chosen battle ground in silence as chaos ensues around him, people screaming and rushing past, shoving and clawing at one another. He is a stone in the river of fate, bending the rushing flow of happenstance to his will. An abnormally strong gust of wind tears through the streets, tugging at his suit jacket and revealing his weapon of choice to the uncaring crowd. He smiles and prowls forward.

 

It’s time to end his long wait.

 

He spies his benefactor floating high above the trash.

 

That can be taken care of later.

 

His gas canister is satisfyingly cool in his hand. It is time for Wilson Fisk to die, so that he can claim all that he desires.

 

He will run this city. And later, the world.

* * *

 

Spider-Man is sitting on the roof of a little home in Queens, where he had watched the sunrise. when he the hairs on the back of his neck raise. He begins swinging off to Manhattan without a second thought.

 

There’s trouble, and it’s bad enough that four of his mechanical spiders, all over the island, are pinging him.

* * *

 

For a moment all he can do is cling to a skyrise and watch the rioting. Then Iron Man rockets past him, and despite the bad taste in his mouth, he needs to help these people.

 

He follows Tony as stealthily as possible, until he sees the Captain and Natasha in an intersection attempting to fend off the crazed rioters. He scans the area, and a glint of light catches his eye from the rooftop of a skyscraper about half a block away. There’s Clint.

 

He watches the fight for a moment, until he notices Natasha struggling to fight a man in a suit. He’s got an acrobatic style, obviously trained somehow. Natasha lets out a gasp as he manages to get inside her guard, and delivers a vicious blow right to her face. She stumbles back, cupping her nose, and he can practically smell the blood on the air.

 

He springs off the wall in a graceful arc, quickly webbing the man to the ground. He lets out a snarl, but like the rest of the crowd, doesn’t seem lucid enough to form a sentence.

 

“Spider-Man,” Cap says. He sounds … resigned, but instead of sending him on his way, he say, “I think we’d all appreciate your help. _Subdue_ only.” And that friggin’ tone…. No matter what he did, they’d never trust him, would they?

 

“All I ever do!” He says with as much cheer as he can force into his voice. He dives into the crowd before he can hear them respond. He probably wouldn’t like it, anyway.

* * *

 

Pepper carries her phone with her all morning and could imagine she feels it burn in her pocket. She cancels all her appointments for the day - not that many of them would have happened, anyway, stranded 80 stories above the madness down below as she is - and finds herself sitting in Peter’s room staring out the windows blankly. She hangs up when she hears the default robotic voice telling her to leave a message.

 

His dresser is pushed out, she notices. The safe hangs open, and it’s empty. She frowns, and gets up to look closer. She wonders what he would want to hide away, but apparently had taken with him _that_ night.

 

Then she hears a tap at the window.

 

She whirls around, gasping, “Peter?”

 

And then screams.

* * *

 

He hears Clint let out a muffled curse over Natasha’s comm. Then Iron Man shoots past.

 

“Stark, what are you doing?” Natasha hisses, and _oh boy_ , Peter is glad she isn’t mad at him.

 

“It’s Pepper,” he hears, in that faint, slightly tinny way that comes from listening to someone else’s phone call, but the delivery doesn’t make his heart drop through his stomach any slower. “She’s been taken. I can’t - I need to go. Have to make sure she’s safe.”

 

“He can’t go alone,” Cap says, instantly. ( _Always the hero, him. Not that you’re gonna disagree, you weak idiot. Getting_ attached _. She’ll leave. Just like Uncle Ben. Like MJ, who couldn’t wait to leave town. Like Gwen. Like Aunt May._

 

 _Like_ **_e v e r y_ ** **_o n e   y o u   l o v e._ ** )

 

Clint rappels down the side of a building, snorting, “And how are we going to catch up to him?”

 

There’s a moment of silence. He almost doesn’t say anything but. It’s Pepper. “I can take someone.”

 

They all look at him in silence. For the first time is what feels like too long, he lets his mouth run without analyzing everything that comes out of it. “Hawkeye, Widow, you can keep working the crowd, right? I can follow him in the air with my webs. If it’s good with you, Cap?”

 

He looks at his teammates.

 

“I’m not going to question it too much.” Cap says. “How do you want to do this?”

 

He wonders if it would end up on the news, Spider-Man swinging through Manhattan with Captain America clinging to his back like the most dangerous piggyback ride in history. He can feel Steve’s pulse pounding in the arms wrapping around his neck, and he thinks that just to avoid being strangled he might have to let Steve know that his back is stuck to the Captain’s chest so there’s no way he’ll slip.

* * *

 

Tony has disappeared by the time they get into the air and are slinging off in the direction he’d gone, but Peter can feel the tingle of his spidey-sense directing him, and he follows it surely. Steve seems set on his whole, ‘no questions’ thing, or maybe he’s just paralyzed in fear ( _he never figured the Captain was afraid of heights, but if it’s true he’ll never let him live it down, he decides_ ) because he doesn’t ask how Spider-Man knows where to go when he brings them to a landing in front of a giant warehouse ( _why is it always a warehouse?_ ).

 

Instead, once their feet are firmly on the ground, he puts his hands on his hips and examines the building. “I can charge in through the front and cause a distraction. You get in there, find Pepper and Tony, and get out.”

 

“Understood.”

 

He hops up onto the side of the building and clings above the door. Steve gives him this look - like he’s regretting all of this - but after a fortifying breath, he throws the door open, splintering the wood and breaking right through the lock. Peter hears the shouts of surprise from what he can only assume are flunkies, followed shortly after by the clinking of Cap’s shield bouncing around. ( _A marvel of engineering that thing. Strong as steel, probably, and it’s gotta have the elasticity of a superball to bounce around like that…_ )

 

After a moment, he creeps down and through the threshold of the door. Cap is brawling with four men, and none of them seem to even notice when he slips past on the concrete ceiling. The room is large and open just inside the door, but metal shelves create a bottleneck a few feet in. Past the shelves he creeps, and right through another door tucked between the aisles.

 

The rest of the building is dark and nearly silent, not a sound in the hallways except for a quiet dripping.

 

Until there’s more.

 

It’s faint. A murmuring, almost inaudible even to Peter’s enhanced senses. But it’s definitely there. His eye track down the hall, until he sees it.

 

 _Of course_.

 

With a disgusted sigh, he rips the covering off of the vent and crawls in.

* * *

 

Fighting lackies isn’t exactly something new to the man out of time. He was a soldier first, and then a hero ( _and if there’s one things heroes lament, it’s having to deal with endless lackies before finishing off the villain_ ). However, he’s grown used to fighting alongside allies. Trusted teammates who always had his back. And because of that it’s been a long time since he’s had to deal with multiple enemies on his own ( _and_ no _, that was not an old joke, Tony_ ).

 

So he’s already maybe a little flustered when he’s faced with four men once he storms the castle, so to say, but it’s nothing beyond his capabilities. He’s Captain America, for heaven’s sake. He can handle this-

 

The door is thrown open, slamming loudly against the wall, and ten more men come running in.

 

No. No he can’t. But he’ll go down swinging.

 

Something cracks over the back of his head, and he sees stars. ( _Not the fun, patriotic kind, either_.)

 

Maybe he could just take a nap?

* * *

 

He follows the muffled sound of a voice as best he can, but it’s not exactly easy in the air ducts. Especially in a building he’s unfamiliar with _(not that he usually travels by vents. What does he look like? Some sassy archer? Ok, sassy, yes but_ …).

 

Gradually the voice gets louder and clearer, and then, finally, _finally_ , he’s found the right place.

 

And he ready to go the instant he peers between the ridges of the vent cover.

 

It’s a large room with odd shadows that suggest it must have previously been filled with machinery, like some sort of old factory. There’s a catwalk suspended about ten feet in the air, running from the wall he’s currently hiding in and across the room.

 

There are three chairs in the room. Two on the lower level, and one on the catwalk.

 

He’s found Pepper.

 

So did Tony and the Cap, it looks like.

* * *

 

He sits sullenly in the _terribly uncomfortable_ chair that the pretty blond douche had tied him to. His suit had glitched the instant he passed through the front door, and trapped within his useless armor, he was helpless to fight off the sting in his neck, or the darkness that took over soon after.

 

And now here he sits. Tied up in some dark creepy warehouse listening to some obviously spoiled brat whining about _revenge_ and righting wrongs. About five or ten minutes before, Capsicle had been dragged in and thrown into another chair that was pulled out and set down beside him, and he paled as he saw the cuffs that were snapped around the Cap’s wrists.

 

Heavy duty steel cuffs. No chain, just the two cuffs soldered together by a thick bar. To prevent him from snapping the chain and getting free, he knows. No getting out of this mess that way, then. His head drops back to stare at the ceiling.

 

And wait, or something. At least ignore the monologuing.

 

After the millionth time the blond prick rambles on about _removing the only obstacle in his path_ , though, he just can’t help himself.

 

“Is this little soliloquy going to end at any point, juliette? I think we’re ready for the poison and dagger.”

 

In an instant the relaxed demeanor of Douche Face McInbreeding completely changes.

 

He grins at Tony widely. “Dagger, you say?” He whispers, all high pitched and crazy. “What a great idea! Oh! I knew they had to call you a genius for something, and it’s certainly not the company you keep!” He giggles, and suddenly yanks Pepper’s chair off balance and onto its rear legs.

 

“How about we fix that?” Crazy whispers.

 

But suddenly a flat piece of metal connects with the side of his face and he stumbles back with a muffled curse, clutching at his face.

 

“How about you get your hands off my mom, asshole.”

 

If the arc reactor wasn’t holding his heart in place as firmly as it kept the shrapnel out of it, it would fall right through his feet when he looks up, up up, right into the face … mask … of Spider-Man. Because he knows that voice. That voice that belongs to-

 

“Peter!” Crazy cries out. “You’re just in time!” He cackles. Actually friggin’ cackles. Like, evil creepy witch cackle.

 

Spider-Man pushes off the wall, classic superhero landing on the catwalk which lets out an ominous bang and groan.

 

“Sorry, but I forgot to pencil in a date with crazy. I’m going to have to cancel.”

 

He charges Crazy, leaping over Pepper in some sort of crazy flip, and shoots a web at Crazy’s back. The web pushes him over the ledge.

 

Crazy falls.

 

But of course it’s not that easy ( _you didn’t really expect the author to let the final battle end like that, did you?_ ).

 

A weird hoverboard thing flies out of … somewhere, and Crazy lands all light on his feet. He rises back up to level with Spider-Man.

 

“Why are you doing this, Harry?” Spider-Man asks. He shifts, puts himself between a wide-eyed Pepper and Harry, arms held away from his body cautiously.

 

“You! You caused the death of my father! You have the potential to save me, but you refused-”

 

“There’s no evidence that my blood would heal you, Harry! It’s far more likely the radiation would just make you more sick!”

 

Harry makes some retort, but Tony (and Cap and Pepper, he suspects) is stuck watching their back and forth like the most horrific tennis match ever. Like a tennis match but with the spikey ball end of a mace.

 

And then something whizzes past Spider-Man and embeds itself into Harry’s gut.

 

Deus ex Hawkeye.

 

Spider-Man barely spares a glance at the rest of the team making their way over to cuff Harry before rushing over to kneel in front of Pepper. He grabs the loop of rope wrapped around her torso and _yanks_ and with a dry tearing sound, the rope snaps. Her hands instantly came up to cup his face. “Peter?” She whispers.

 

He hesitates, then lowers his head. His hands come up and slowly pull off the mask.

 

“Wait, what?!”

 

Clint. Of course.

 

But that doesn’t matter. Because _Peter_ is standing - kneeling - there, in Spider-Man’s suit. He’s got hat (mask?) head and his cheeks are flushed, but he’s mostly uninjured and he’s _right there_.

 

“We’re going to have a talk about this, young man,” Pepper whispers sternly.

 

Then she throws her arms around his neck and squeezes him close.

 

Peter chuckles and runs a hand through his head when she releases him. “I figured.” His voice is choked, but he stands and turns to Tony and Cap nevertheless.

 

Their eyes meet.

 

“I am proud and also furious.”

 

Peter grins. “You look pretty comfy there - letting me do all the heavy lifting already, old man?”

 

Tony lets out a loud squawk and then begins sputtering out half formed retorts as quickly as he can, but Cap still bursts out into gut busting laughter.

 

He settles down into a slow simmer and a glare.

 

“You are so grounded for, like, the next two years.”

 

Peter casually vaults over the railing of the catwalk, and even though he’d just watched him in a fist fight, and even though he’s seen Spider-Man perform all sorts of acrobatic feats that could (and have) made even Natasha envious, he still feels his heart do a nervous little flutter watching him drop to the ground. He strolls over to Tony, first, and rips the ropes off from around him just like with Pepper.

 

And then he slips over behind Cap and just grabs the cuffs, one in each hand, and pulls. And they snap off like they were made of aluminum.

 

He sees the others gaping, and he grins.

 

“I’ve bodychecked a train before, guys. A little steel is nothing.”

 

“Oh yeah.” Tony says. “We’re definitely going to be talking about this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like Tony came out a little more Deadpool than Iron Man. What do you guys think? As always, feedback is appreciated.


	10. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS IT, GUYS!!! The final chapter! We made it!!! 
> 
> Thank you all so, so much! For reading this story, for all your amazing feedback, and for joining me in the adventure that is writing this piece. I love you all!

* * *

 

The next morning Peter wakes up in his room in Avenger’s Tower.

 

The room falls silent when the elevator doors open up on the commons. And then-

 

“Peter! I have heard of the events which transpired recently, and I would be proud to call you shield brother.”

 

Thor. Gotta love the guy. Even when he’s squeezing you so hard you can’t feel your toes.

 

He pats Thor’s shoulder, and whispers out, “Thanks.” His voice and choked, and it’s probably a combination of emotion and lack of oxygen.

 

He sits down at the breakfast bar, and tries to ignore the way that everyone’s eyes linger on him. It seems to work. Everyone slowly falls back into a normal routine.

 

Until Clint ruins it.

 

“So. You’re Spider-Man.”

 

He looks up at the archer. “Yes,” he says slowly. “We’ve gone over this. I have the extra chores to show for it.”

 

“But. You said you had no idea why Spider-Man let you take pictures of him. You were able to _lie_ to Natasha! You sold glorified selfies to the news! For money!”

 

A smirk spreads across his face. “Yeah, I did.” Everyone gives him curious, expectant looks. “I couldn’t control what the newspapers said, but I could make sure they only got my good side,” he snickers, and gives a decent impression of Tony preening for the cameras. His smile softens when he gets laughter. “No, but seriously. It was possibly the best job to fit into a high school vigilante’s busy schedule - do my vigilante-ing and take pictures of it; not much easier than that - and it was a good way to make money. If you have access to something that's in demand, and when I first started, pictures of Spider-Man were very much in demand, and not only that, but you can limit the production of that thing - I told you: I can sense when people are trying to take photos of me. Some other stuff, too, but that definitely helped me make sure I was the only source of Spider-Man photos - then you have something that people will pay a lot of money for."

 

From the other side of the breakfast bar, Tony pretends to tear up and swoon against Bruce. “The company is in good hands when we’re old and gray,” he stage whispers to Pepper.

 

Everyone laughs. And for the first time in a long time, Peter feels that warmth in his chest that becomes from being surrounded by family.

 

Sure, he might have to dodge paparazzi for the rest of his life, no matter what suit he’s in, and he’s probably going to be grounded until he’s 18, but it’s a small price to pay, he decides, for being this happy.

 

A week later, Spider-Man makes his debut as an official member of the Avengers. Comm and everything.

 

It’s a good life ahead of him, he decides.

 

May it never change.


End file.
